


I am Albus Dumbledore

by Sadsnail



Series: Dumbledore Insert [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Because of Reasons, Families of Choice, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Humor, Isekai, Kid Fic, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Shall I just put the whole fic in the tags?, Slice of Life, Snape as a Dad, just having fun, which is just another way to say OC insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-12-22 15:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21079088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadsnail/pseuds/Sadsnail
Summary: What would you do if suddenly you found yourself in Dumbledore’s body? Crying is definitely in the plan. Changing into a four year old? Not so much. Pretending to be the son of Severus Snape? Never!When you’ve nothing better to do, you write crack. Enjoy!





	1. The Feast

My name is Albus Dumbledore. Well not really. I won’t tell you my real name for then you could probably track my family down and, I don't know, laugh at them or something.

I am a self-insert from a world very much different to the magical Harry Potter universe. Oh, we had magic, but it was nothing like here. Our magic was not something we could manipulate with wands. Our magic also only worked for a very lucky few who were tired of life. If they wished hard enough, or suffered long enough (our scientists were still unsure as to the exact formula, or we would be replicating this, don't believe otherwise), they could escape into a new world. More specifically, into a book world.

What you need to know was that for us, books were just another universe, filtering through our thoughts, urging us to pen it down, to marvel over beings that would never know of our existence. For Inserts, the book world would become their new home, where they lived to the end of their days, unable to return; presumably content, or at minimum satisfied.

* * *

I came into my new body, standing in front of a uniform sea of pointed hats and childlike faces, all lit quaintly by floating candles. Row upon row of children sat behind long tables in a cavernous stone hall. I was up on a dias, behind a table myself, in the middle of a row of serious faced adults. A small way off a chair stood prominently, with yet another pointy hat on the seat.

For a wild moment I thought that I had gone nuts, for some reason I had never thought this would happen to me but now that it had, I recognised it instantly, and the starry dome above our heads clued me in. I—who will never tell you my former name—had been inserted into none other than Harry Potter world.

Oh, God. Don't let me be Voldemort! Or Umbridge! I couldn't stop myself from having a mini freak out, and what came out—in a suspiciously deep male voice—sounded like senseless babbling. Then my knees gave in and I plopped back down on my chair.

The children clapped and cheered, a deafening noise, and food appeared on the tables like magic.

To my left, a woman turned to ask, "Really, Albus? Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, Tweak? Whatever will you do next."

I will scream and run away. I will cry. Albus? "I will try the pumpkin juice."

Oh my God, I was Albus Dumbledore.

Why couldn't I have been anyone else? Luna! I definitely felt like a Luna! I leaned forward to look down the length of our table: a line of unrecognizable faces to both sides. And young. So very young. For a stupid moment I wondered why they didn't resemble their actor counterparts, since all the teachers were nearly croaking in the films—

Turban.

Oh hell, then we were still in the first book—hello, Quirrell. A pale man in his mid twenties, he sat vibrating next to a wizard that must, by process of elimination, be Snape. Greasy hair and a hooked nose, how old was the Bat, thirty-one? The line of faces all looked so young, and at that moment I would rather have been anyone of them, Quirrell excluded. And maybe not Snape.

"What are you looking for, Albus?" the witch asked. "Your juice is right in front of you."

"Yes? Oh, good." Please don’t let me cry.

Inserting into someone did not give you their memories, you only knew whatever the writer had managed to pen down, and I spent the feast desperately trying to remember everything I could about Albus Dumbledore. When I wasn’t doing that I sat in a daze, hardly believing this was happening.

I had become an old man with only five years left to live. Six? I hadn’t even read all the books, and too many of my memories might be fandom coloured, but I did remember the horcruxes and surely I would be smart enough not to kill myself with that ring? Which still meant I had inserted myself into a very old man.

Meanwhile I ate whatever was placed in front of me, ignored the wizards and witches sitting beside me, and tried to take everything in. Of course I was curious to see Harry.

It was quite easy to find the eleven-year-olds at the tables. Impossibly small against the rest of the student body, they looked like they should still be home with their mothers. I spotted Malfoy's white hair right off the bat in the middle of the green group. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs I had no clue of. I am ashamed to say I struggled to remember which colours were which. At the far opposite were the Gryffindors in their scarlet and gold.

I automatically searched for Harry Potter and the Weasleys. The Weasley children were not the only ones with red hair, I found, but there was a group of red bunched together that looked promising. Two of the boys appeared to be twins, so the dark head between them and another ginger must belong to Harry Potter. He looked tiny, nearly drowned behind a stack of food, but then again, so did his seatmate. Kids. A piece of carrot fell into my beard.

Oh for fuck’s sake, I had a beard.

Why the ever loving FUCK couldn't I have self-inserted as a kid instead?!

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was a wonderful, scary woman, whose help I might need to use a lot if I wanted to survive this ordeal. She had already proved helpful by having passed me a list of last minute instructions to give the students, or I would never have remembered to do that.

The best of those had been: 'Keep away from the third floor corridor to the right or you'll die'.

That one managed to scare the hell out of me—how could I have forgotten the corridor? I, for one, would certainly not be going near it. No way was I going to do anything that could shorten the six years I had. Somewhere in the hall, a lone kid had laughed. Ah, Harry, it was you, wasn't it? You poor soul.

I managed to find my way to my rooms with her help, and she said the password for me while I fiddled with a buttery pea in my beard. When not knowing how to find them myself, fearing I would wander the length of my days lost in the halls, I had the great plan to tell her that I had wanted a last meeting before school started, which left me now to pretend I did no such thing. I quaked in my boots at her: “Really, Albus!” But she did not say more and left in a huff to my utter relief, muttering something about calling Poppy if I continued my nonsense. Nonsense? She hadn’t seen any nonsense yet!

Once in my bedroom, which was through a little alcove behind my desk, I went straight for the full length mirror in the corner.

I was old. Thin. Tall. Not dressed like a showy clown, but in a dark grey robe fitting with my ideas of what a real wizard would wear. Huh. The clothes must have been the director's version then. Or fanon? My hair and beard shone silver, smelled like lavender and... the beard sparkled. Everything did. My new blue eyes sparkled behind sparkling half-moon glasses. I tucked the frame down my crooked nose to see if all this sparkling was a trick from the spectacles, and found myself looking at a blurry scape instead. Oh, for fuck's sake. Old AND blind! I pushed it back up and stared in horror at myself for nearly a minute, before ripping off the robe to see the rest. (Don't shame me, you would have done the same.)

Colourful socks in surprisingly sturdy, high-heeled boots, hairy knobbly knees and grey boxer shorts appeared. A wand clattered to the floor and rolled away. I threw the beard over my shoulder to see my chest—way thinner than what I had in my previous life, with no boobs!—and flat nipples. It struck me then. Oh my god. I was a man. I could walk around without a shirt if I wanted. I had… I shucked the boxers and let it fall down to pool around my ankles. Hairy. Balls. Wrinkled dick...that shrank under my gaze... Oh. My. God. I was not going to be able to touch that! Oh, my blessed G—

"Albus. I need you to reconsider our strategy on Potter—bloody hell!"

My eyes met those of Severus Snape's in the mirror. The man stood transfixed in the doorway, his face slowly losing colour.

I honestly didn't know which of the two of us were more shocked, but I definitely deserved the prize for being the most embarrassed self-insert ever. And you wondered why I didn't want to tell you my name. Why was life so horrible? This couldn't be a better option than my other one; somewhere someone had made an awful mistake. Let me go back!

Snape retreated as fast as he appeared, with a hurried bleat: "I'll wait in your office!"

Why wait in my office? Go away, go completely away to another country and Obliviate yourself while you were at it!

I dressed.

Pulled up my boxers and struggled back into the robe.

Straightened my beard. Awful thing that itched and pulled, getting caught in everything; no wonder he tucked it into his belt. Did everyone's beard itch like that the whole time, and if so, why on God's earth did they have them?

There wasn't anyone to ask, and I suddenly missed Google. I didn't need a crystal ball to know I would miss it more in the days to come. Unlike Snape's, my face now had a red sheen that did not want to go away no matter how hard I flapped my hands at it. My new wand—that I didn't even have time yet to explore, damn the Bat—fell out of my sleeve twice before I gave up and set it on the bedside table.

There was no hope that Snape had left. He was still in the office, I could hear him rustling about. There was no escape; I couldn't hide forever no matter how much I wanted to.

How ever was I going to live this down? Dinner was rolling around in my stomach, threatening to come back up, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out and face the spy.

I went out to face the spy.

"I apologise," Snape said stiffly from where he stood in the middle of the office, his face a blank mask, body rigid. "I should have knocked."

"If you've seen one pair of hairy balls, you've seen them all." Good save. And yes, hey, your face can get hotter. "Why are you here, Sn—” He had called you Albus! “—Severus?"

My knees were not going to hold me up much longer. It would feel stupid to sit behind the desk, so I sank down heavily in the nearest floral armchair, refrained heroically from putting my head in my hands, and swallowed the bile down.

"Are you unwell?" Snape asked.

"Yes." Extremely unwe—oh for fuck's sake. Note to self: have a lie ready for when people ask if you're feeling well, if you're feeling yourself, if you're acting odd—

"Should I call Poppy?"

"It is not something that she can help with," I snapped, my new voice booming through the office, and could kick myself when his eyebrows rose. I forced myself to speak calmly next. "I am well able to call her myself if need be, Severus. As you've seen, I am twi-thrice your age—did you only come to talk about my health?"

"No." Irritation flashed over his sallow face, and he fell with a long, drawn out sigh in the opposite chair, rubbing his forehead. "Albus, I've come to beg you again to reconsider. I'm not happy with this plan of yours. The Dark Lord is dead, we all know that, and we will benefit nothing from this farce. It will only end in tears."

Plan? What plan? "Are you so sure he is dead?" I played for time. Now was when I should tell him about Quirrell's passenger, shouldn't I? We can fix it before it started and kill him proper. "Did we see his body?" But he would want me to take care of it, wouldn’t he? Wasn’t Albus the only one able to best Voldemort besides Harry? And here I was instead, I didn't even know if I could do magic.

"We haven't felt him in ten years, surely that is enough proof. You're the only one that thinks he is coming back!"

"We? You asked others?"

"No! It is obvious, Albus. If people thought he would return they would be doing something about it."

I couldn't help a snort, thinking of Fudge and everyone vilifying Harry for saying he returned. Book four or five, wasn't it? Inspiration struck. "Say his name."

"What?"

"Say his name in front of a group of wizards and witches and see how they run. Why be scared if he's dead?"

"Because he is the boggart in our cupboards now."

Quirrell Quirrell Quirrell. Tell him! No. "What's my plan?" Shit. Backtrack. "What part of my plan disagrees with you?"

"Are you sure you are all right?"

"Did I say I was?" I'm an Insert! I should sound exactly like their Albus, why wasn't it working on him? Minerva hadn't asked me if I was unwell! Oh, hell. Didn’t she say something about calling Poppy? That felt like ages ago. Could it be possible that I was the first ever Insert-mistake? What would these people do to an imposter? Dementors… There was nothing for it. I was going to have to bluster my way out of this then. "Please get to the point of your visit, Severus. I am tired, and it's well past bedtime for people my age. What part of the—"

"The damn part where I should be bullying an eleven-year-old child! You know this! What do you want me to say? We've been over this the whole summer. Classes start tomorrow, and still you want me to continue with this asinine plan!" He sprang up like a Jack in the Box to pace the room. "I have enough trouble teaching the idiots not to blow up the school without involving myself in their silly little lives. Voldemort isn't coming back!" he shouted, nearly frothing at the mouth, and it took everything in me not to cringe away from the volume. "I don't need to make an enemy of a child—of half the school—just to be a spy again, because he is not coming back!"

Oh, have I got news for you.

I didn't remember this being in the book. Our experts agreed that there's more between the written lines than what we knew. According to them, a good author would get around sixty percent of the facts right. How much had JKR managed? Did the Dumbledore bashers have the right of it? Was the whole Harry hate thing a ruse he made up? "Fine. Scrap the plan." Fuck you, old Dumbledore. Your plans got you killed.

"What?" He stopped pacing and swung about to face me. "Be serious."

"The whole thing, scrap it. I did not know it was going to be so hard for you, or I wouldn't have asked." Good one. I was getting the hang of this now!

"If you want me to do it, I will."

Oh, come on! What I want you to do was not give me a headache. "It was one plan, Severus. There are plenty more where it came from," I said as mild as milk, internally praising myself for keeping my temper. It didn't last long. At all.

"But—"

"Oh for god's sake!" Stuff being amicable. It was my turn to jump up; two can shout. Huh. It was actually nice to have my voice go deeper instead of high. "Cancel the plan. I will think up something else. How many times do you want to hear it?"

He reeled back. "Albus, are you sure you're—"

"If you ask me if I am well, I will not be responsible for my actions." Which was probably going to be crying or screaming. I managed to give him a vicious frown, hoping to make it a worthwhile threat. My damn eyes had better not be twinkling now!

He blinked.

"Then I shall not," he said and raised his chin, curling his top lip at me—a veritable picture of disdain.

But he was worried, I could see it in his eyes. It was all a mess. That worry wasn't for me, it was for the real Albus Dumbledore. Hell, it might even be for Harry Potter. Or maybe he stubbed his toe when he was prancing about, raving—I wouldn't know. Let's face it, if JKR had been so wrong about his Harry-hate, then I didn't know the man in front of me from Adam.

I wanted to be alone.

I needed to be alone.

I raised myself up to my full height, feeling my back creak, and asked him imperiously. "Was there anything else?"

"No." He seemed to straighten up also, and sadly I now had to look up at him. "I do think you should see Poppy though, you are clearly not yourself."

No. Really. I swallowed a hysterical cackle.

Somehow I got him out. I closed the door behind his back and searched uselessly for a lock before remembering that the gargoyle was it. Could I ask it not to let anyone up? Would it understand? What if I went down and found Snape still hanging about—oh, this was too much. I didn't want to be here at all! I pushed the heaviest chair to the door, stuck it under the handle, and, for extra surety, sat on it.

Then I had a good cry.

It's my insert, and I'll cry if I want to!


	2. Help

You can only cry so much. Albus Dumbledore did not carry a handkerchief, so I blew my nose inside the bottom of the robe to spite him. Don't tell me it was not his fault. We don't just jump into any which character; according to the scientists, we needed to have an affinity with them, and they in turn lacked something that only our presence would improve. So yea, I blame him for the lack more than myself for the affinity, and you can't make me feel otherwise.

Morning was going to come with fresh horrors, and I needed to prepare.

There was no sleeping while I had so many things to learn. I laughed somewhat hysterically when I realized I could just as well have been Harry Potter for all I knew about magic and the magical world. Having read the books helped nothing. It's not as if I read them yesterday either. For God's sake. Why couldn't I fall into the most recent book I've read? Who decided these things?! I wasted some time trying to think of anything I had read recently that wasn't fanfiction but couldn't. Damn.

Not having the courage yet to return to the bedroom and its mirror, I set off exploring the office. The walls were filled to the ceiling with bookcases; thick leather tomes squeezed into every cranny. Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms? What on earth was a Logogram? Not one beginner's guide to magic to be found, if there even was such a thing, and I looked in vain for any that might be school textbooks. Oh no, Albus Dumbledore seemed above mere textbooks—damn the man to hell and back. Every last one of them looked advanced. Some shocked my fingers when I reached for them, one tried to bite and another wound a chain around my wrist that I struggled to get off, nearly hyperventilating in my panic. After that, I left them alone and didn't dare touch any of the steampunk gizmos that were ticking and whirling about, most serving innocuously as bookends. Fool me once...

The desktop and drawers held schedules and correspondence between 'me' and McGonagall, between 'me' as Supreme Mugwump and what looked like several departments of the Ministry, and nothing at all personal. A big stack was addressed to the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. For a while, I kept myself busy reading whatever I could find. At the very least, they taught me my full name, at worst, they referred to people and cases I had no clue about. The letters swam before my eyes. At first, I thought it was from being tired, as it must be way past midnight already, but no, I was crying again.

I changed the plan. Forget trying to catch up. I would go to sleep and hide up here, and maybe the elves could send up food once I figured out how to call them. After all, I only needed to hide out for seven years. By then Harry would have defeated Voldemort, and I would then step out and congratulate him most sincerely. Sobbing a bit more—you have to understand me here, I never was the adventurous one, I didn't even like going to the mall—SOBBING A BIT MORE, I stepped into the wrong alcove and came face to face with a bubbling cauldron.

It was huge. Set on the ground, it came well up to my middle despite my new beanstalk aesthetics. It was filled to the brim with golden fluid that bubbled at a low simmer. I leaned over and got a whiff of citrus. My beard chose that moment to pull loose, and a huge hunk of it dipped into the cauldron before I could catch it. And it just… melted away. Frightening visions of boils à la Neville's potions assaulted me, and I retreated the heck out of there, holding the remains (of what's now fast becoming the bane of my life) well away from my robe, to go find the mirror. I might have shouted some. Well fine, imagine me going 'HAaaAaaaaa!' all the way to the bedroom, and you should have the picture.

Ever done that thing with the scissors where you cut half your hair off as a kid? Do you remember that stomach plunging dread when you saw you did a hack job of it and needed to go tell your mom? Albus Dumbledore could tuck his beard in his belt no more. Well, he could tuck one longish tip on the right side if he wanted to walk bent over, but the left side came down—up to his chest. My chest. Fuck. My head pounded—I could fix this! I turned a wild, breathless circle—I just needed scissors!

The bedroom held a huge canopied bed, a closet and a mirror. No, there were bedside tables, each with a drawer and a tiny shelved compartment below. Dusty scrolls on the bottom and a large paper bag filled with candy in the drawer, my wand lonely on the top. No scissors. I banged it shut and rushed to the other side of the bed, only to find that one empty except for a cobweb. Did the house-elves leave it for castle aesthetics or was I supposed to clean my own rooms? Oh, God, I knew next to nothing about this place!

I desperately needed to cry. According to Tumblr it was even _okay_ to cry. Nothing to be ashamed of. Really. I desperately needed to pee.

I haven't seen a toilet yet. Dread unimaginable assailed me and I looked at the bed. If there was a chamber pot it was going to be on the candy side but I knelt to look anyway, hoping for a clear view through. Dust and emptiness. Too black to see to the end and no flashlight is there? Lumos! That's the spell! Back to the other side of the bed. I bent down first, heart in my mouth but if there was going to be a pot I was by now well willing to use it. Nothing. Where the fuck was the toilet?

It was in the closet. No wait, it really was. I did a whole bloody round though the place again, office, cauldron room, bedroom—even pressed all the walls in case it was, you know, hidden—and finally I ripped open the closet doors, having lost all patience I ever had. I was ready to pee in it. Or out of the window if I could open it. I didn't have to. Albus Dumbledore had a big ass walk-in closet filled with robes and at the very end... a bathroom. If angels sang hallelujah with me I wouldn't know for I rushed to the room, nearly skidded on the tiles turning a sharp left to the toilet that stood ready and waiting, seat up.

I cried a bit more.

* * *

There's no coming back from being a self-insert. Once you're gone, you're gone. How did they realise people disappeared into books, you ask? How did we not just think people ran off or met a serial killer and got buried in a ditch? Well, easy. In the early days, books were scarce, and you kept them well maintained, had only a few, and blessed was the family member that got your prized collection in the will. Some smart reader noticed small changes in an extra copy and recognised their most hated family member that they had thought eaten by wolves. The rest was history.

Very much history. We were taught it in school. Cults developed, making their followers read only one book that will hopefully be their Nirvana. People became hoarders, houses stacked to the brim with books on books—good luck finding them in one of those. Some people only read horrors or stuck to adventures—whatever floated their boat—and others didn't pay it much attention. I certainly didn't keep any book hoping my family would find me in it. For even though we self-inserted, it was rare enough that the chances it could happen to you were—I never kept up with the statistics—let's just say you're more likely to be found in a ditch.

* * *

My little bathroom adventure had tired me out, mentally and physically. I had just scaled a veritable mountain, but still, I didn't want to go lie in some stranger's bed that probably smelled like lavender. There was the beard to fix too before someone saw. I trudged out of the bedroom and was going to look for scissors in the office when the wand caught my eye. Lumos! Leviosa! Sectumsempra!

Two minutes later had me shouting 'Lumos!' like a mad man, waving the stick about my head, hoping to catch the right motion by simply trying them all. Swish flick flick swish lu-MOS LUH-mos! Levi-O-sa! All I got were sparkles. Which looked quite pretty, and if you ran around and waved it just fast enough, you could make multiple trails before they disappeared and have the whole room sparkle all the colours of the rainbow for five seconds. Creaking knees stopped the game in the end, but it was fun while it lasted.

I had magic!

* * *

It felt late. Time to get a move on if I wanted to get any rest. The whole castle must be asleep by now, and dinner felt a very long way off. Dumbledore wouldn't need his candy anymore, so once I stopped waving the wand around, and gathered some of my breath back, I appropriated it for myself. With it in hand, wand tucked under my arm, I went back to the office in search of the elusive thing called scissors. For all I knew wizards used a spell and wouldn't know scissors from their ass. Then I would be truly fucked.

I pushed a fistful of jelly babies into my mouth—the whole bag disappointingly filled with normal candy, I was kind of hoping for a chocolate frog—and started opening the desk drawers one by one for a thorough search.

"What on earth are you doing, Albus?"

"Looking for scisso—" My heart stopped, I swear. It gave one hard thump and then nothing. I froze.

"Have you finally lost it?" a man's voice asked from across the room. Damn that gargoyle! Was it Quirrell? Flitwick had a squeaky voice, so it couldn't be—

"He has," another voice answered for me, this time from above my head. Was it the ghosts? They were amazing to see at the feast, but I definitely wouldn't want them near my rooms! "First crying, then shouting—"

"He cried?" _This one was a woman!_ "He's not moving now, did someone petrify him? Is there someone else here?" she called, her voice rising to a fearful squeak at the end. I felt for her, I could do with another bout of hysterics myself.

"There's no one else," another soothed. "Relax, Edessa." This voice came from the wall to my left.

Oh.

Portraits.

I started breathing again. How could I forget about them, what else had they seen? Every last one of them must have seen me run around like a headless chicken! It was beyond embarrassing! First Snape catching me looking and now this. Was this now going to be my life?!

One of them spoke up, his voice the pure gravel of a smoker, entertaining the others with his rendition of the hour I had spent on the chair crying. I swear he exaggerated. "Running about making sparks, don't forget that," he continued to scoff. "He was fine a moment ago."

"Well, he's certainly not moving now."

Because you scared the bloody shite out of me, that's why. I stood crouched over a drawer, hand frozen half way in, and honestly I didn't want to look up. I was praying to become invisible. Magic, don't fail me now.

"He is over a hundred years old, that's long in the tooth for anyone. Senility can be expected."

"Possession more likely, senility creeps up on you, and I am sure we would have noticed," another said.

"I say it is time we call someone," yet another voice spoke up, or was it the first? They all sounded indistinguishable by now. "McGonagall will do."

I jerked up. "No!"

"Oh look,"—peering at me over spectacles was a large florid-faced man dressed in old fashioned robes, his voice acerbic—"the possessed Wizard doesn't want us to call someone. How curious."

"I am voting we sit back and watch," a Witch at his side said with a cackle. Next to his portrait was an empty one reminding me that they could also move about. What sounded good in the books turned out to be creepy in reality. I shuddered at the thought of them following me. Watching all I do. "What do we care if he is someone else, I haven't had this much fun in years."

"I am not possessed!"

"We wouldn't expect you to say anything else," someone said to my left. I twisted around to see the speaker, but it could have been any of the three portraits hanging on that wall, all of them looking down their noses at me.

Round and round they went, quibbling over what to do, and short of burning them—I didn't see any matches, or I swear I would've—I wouldn't be able to stop them from doing whatever they decided. Unable to stand the loud squabbling a moment more, I grabbed my candy bag and wand, giving up on the search for the elusive scissors, and rushed off to my bedroom. Only to find myself next to the cauldron again. Aaargh!

Not for any money in the world was I going to go out there again. I circled the cauldron to the far wall and crouched down with my back against the stone. I couldn't see any of them from here, which meant peek-a-boo rules applied. Let them call someone, and I would just deny whatever they said. See who calls who senile!

I went through all the jelly babies, the liquorice strips and was well into the thin mints before I got bored. To the side was a long wooden table with assorted jars next to cutting board and knife. I went to have a closer look. The bookcase had left me very much concerned that something would bite, so once I've pushed my spectacles up, I kept my hands well out of the way, firmly clasped behind me.

Herbs. That one was lavender. A bowl of lemons. No eyeballs or bat wings or slugs. One jar had honey. Another was more interesting, thick silvery liquid that swirled in the jar. I stared at it for a long time, waiting for it to stop, nearly putting myself into a trance with it. It looked like something you would gather from unicorns, and I spun for myself a little fantasy around it that I am not going to tell you about.

Perplexed, I turned to the cauldron. Why would he want such a big one? What do you need all that fluid for? I stepped closer for another whiff. Definitely lemon. Was this just where the lemon drops came from? Was that canon or fanon? But how could a lemon drop mixture do this to my beard? I turned back to the table. Lavender.

Was Dumbledore making his own hygiene products?

I held my hand over the bubbling fluid like you would to test a hot pan, but it was cold. Feeling braver, I touched the cauldron, fully expecting the tip of my finger to burn—after all, there was flames under the pot—but was pleasantly surprised to find it cold too. Huh. Interesting. I finished the thin mints, ignoring the urge to chuck one in, and crunched some boiled caramels. There were four lollipops, and I had to put the bag and the wand down to unwrap one. It's been years since I had them, and honestly, it was nice to concentrate on something that was familiar. That's when the brainwave struck.

This might be a lemon drop mixture, but I would never know how to finish it and, frankly, it could not be good for your ulcers if it melted hair. I could just dip the beard in, letting it melt off until I had an even cut, couldn't I? Who needed scissors now! I tucked the lollipop into my cheek—for this needed concentration—and set to it, internally praising myself for being so smart.

I was an idiot.

I melted the beard right-left-right-left-right, each time I looked it was just that little bit lopsided, forcing me to try one more time and one more time... until it reached my chin. By then, I was sniffling again, tearfully praying that I would do the Harry Potter thing and grow it back overnight, for there was no other hope for it. Oh if only it was just that. The problem I hadn't figured into the equation, was my hair. Flowing down my back, it was nearly as long as my beard. Was, being the operative word here. Come on, it was an easy mistake to make, beard, hair, hair, beard… I had mistakenly dipped some into the cauldron with the damn beard and now needed to go all out for one last fix.

I could do this.

I had just spent half hour practising on the beard, the hair would be a cinch.

With a fortifying breath, I took the long strands, parted them equally, and, gathering both sides, leaned over the cauldron to give them _one last dip_. Such was my concentration on doing just this one thing right, that I forgot the lollipop in my cheek.

It dropped into the golden liquid with an underwhelming 'plop'.

Of course, I dove after it. I had no brain. My hand reached into the potion that up to now had melted everything I put into it, my arm up to the elbow and then the shoulder in the thick fluid before I felt something hard and round. I made a grab for it. It slipped through my fingers twice, and by now I was leaning far over the bubbling fluid—all I needed to complete the worst day of my life was a push.

An unearthly shriek split the air behind me, rendering me nearly deaf, but that was not a concern right then, far worse was yet to come. Talons ripped into my back, wings flapped at my head, a lone feather falling into the potion sizzled to nothing, and the MONSTROUS THING behind me PUSHED. I tumbled into the cauldron head first, the rest of me following seconds after, screaming. Every time I surfaced I was attacked again, forcing me to duck back into the cauldron, again and again, screaming for help, choking, potion splashing everywhere. (Ever after I would hurl at the mere sight of lemon curd.) Finally, blessedly, the cauldron tipped over, catching me under it, and it became both my jail and my shield as talons clanged against the iron.

The night had been too long. It was all too much. All the stress that came with inserting into Harry Potter world, then having spent most of the night running about and having mini heart attacks, when truly Dumbledore's old body should have been tucked into bed directly after dinner. I blacked out.


	3. Life can get stranger yet.

I could have died. If it wasn’t for the handle, set a bit higher than the rim, the cauldron would have suffocated me while I lay unconscious under it. The handle allowed the rest of the potion to escape and left a thin line between the cauldron and the tiles for fresh air to reach me. Or so I was told by Minerva McGonagall.

She sat next to my bed, holding my hand in both of hers, her face a mixture of awe and exasperation. “Albus. _What were you thinking_.”

I kept my mouth shut. Bit my tongue and zipped my lips. Someone had done me a favour and put my glasses on, though they kept sliding down. To her left stood Poppy Pomfrey, the Mediwitch, waving her wand about. Spell after spell washed over me, her whole face contorted into a frown. Her magic tickled up my spine and buzzed through my head, it felt like poking your finger at a live wire.

To her right stood Severus Snape. I dared not look at him. Once was enough. Where Minerva was shocked, and Poppy concerned, he seemed to be having a hard time keeping a straight face. I could understand the first two being here but why on earth did they call him? What would I benefit? I had medical support in Poppy and emotional in Minerva who seemed glued to my hand. All I could think was we must be fast friends. He calls me by my name and does not hesitate to enter my rooms—

“Poppy, he is turning red,” Minerva said, clutching my hand tighter. “Should we be concerned?”

Tired, I closed my eyes. I was just waiting for them to leave so I could have the mother of all freakouts but I might be too exhausted even for that. I could probably have slept through to the morning after my blackout, had the tingling magic not woken me up and I struggled against a yawn.

“Poppy!” Minerva called.

Snape’s cough sounded suspiciously like an aborted laugh as Poppy assured my Deputy that I was not croaking. For the second time that night I prayed for invisibility. I tell you, it is starting to be an unhappy trend.

The damn portraits had called them. Both the women were in dressing gowns, Minerva still had her nightcap on and Poppy in turn seemed to think her nurses cap was required, never mind that the red and white cap seriously clashed with the voluminous pink nightgown. Snape, on the other hand, was dressed all in black, his robe still buttoned up to the throat, and he looked as if he had never gone to bed.

From what I was told when I woke to find myself already tucked into my own bed, the portraits had informed them that Fawkes had gone mad and attacked me, that they heard me calling for help. None of the portraits are able to see into that alcove so it was all conjecture on their part and my word against theirs. I only needed a moment of peace to figure out a plan! The three had looked to me to confirm the story and that was when I decided silence was best.

I was going to burn all the portraits. Every last one. If I looked through my lashes, I could see six of them gathered in one painting, squashed into an awkward crush, straining to see around the doorway. They had said nothing about senility, though Dilys Derwent—according to Poppy who paused to give me a telling look, and honestly she need not have bothered for I had not yet a clue who that was—had mentioned possible possession. Half of the spells she was currently throwing at me were testing for that. I am now waiting for the moment she tells them I am an insert. What would they do to me if they knew? What could I do to save myself, especially in my new form?

I’ve been avoiding it but I suppose you’re going to find out anyway. Somehow I have… de-aged. Are you laughing yet? This has been the weirdest day. An hour ago I was a hundred plus year old Wizard with hai—creaky knees, and right this minute Poppy was testing to see if I was three or four. Their money on three.

I currently lay firmly tucked under the lavender smelling covers, dressed in a too big undershirt that one of them had pulled from my closet. Though the robes had not shrunk with me, they had been a wet mess, and apparently dear Poppy had decreed them gone. I don’t know who had done the dressing and frankly I don’t want to know. Every time I thought about it I felt my cheeks heat up yet again and Minerva would breathe a bit faster, calling, “Poppy!”

“I cannot find anything wrong,” Poppy declared at last.

“What do you mean you cannot find anything, Poppy, he is a child! Look at him!” Minerva called agitated. “Everything is wrong with him!”

“No dear. He is a fine and healthy four year old.”

“What about possession,” Snape asked.

“You see before you Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. No one in this room is possessed, we have some excitable portraits, that is all.”

I sagged in relief.

“Then why doesn’t he want to talk?” Minerva kept on.

“I have no idea. He is certainly able to,” Poppy replied.

There was silence. I kept my eyes firmly closed when Minerva called my name. Perhaps if I ignore them, they might go away.

“Look at him,” Snape scoffed. “He is clearly faking it, Minerva, what do you expect, he is a child.”

At this my eyes flew open and I positively GLARED at the man. It is one thing when Minerva said it, for she despaired. He, on the other hand… “I am not a child!”

“You are certainly acting like one,” he countered.

“I’m not!”

He did not say ‘Are too.’ He raised an eyebrow at me and I shrank away from the sharp look that accompanied it, remembering Legilimency with a stomach clench. I felt very much exposed and desperately wanted to pull the blankets over my head and hide away until everything was magically fixed but that would just prove him right.

“When will I turn back,” I turned to Poppy instead. “How will you fix this?”

She looked at me as helpless as I felt. “I’m sorry Albus, I am sure Severus here can make an antidote once you’ve told him more about your potion. Congratulations by the way, this is monumental, the first ever permanent de-aging potion? Why you’ll surely get the order of Merlin.”

“Oh god,” Minerva groaned. “Poppy, can you imagine every last adult suddenly running around as four year olds? What have you done, Albus?”

“I for one have no wish to repeat my childhood,” Severus said. Poppy added a ‘Neither do I’ and Minerva nodded her agreement. They all stared at me.

“If you think I wanted to be four years old you are out of your minds.” Oh my voice! The high tone of a toddler sounded awful, just awful. I fought against crying, my eyes burning hot with the threatening tears, and I pinched my lips together. I certainly wasn’t going to do it in front of them.

“_Then what happened, Albus?_” Minerva asked. “Phineas said Fawkes attacked you? We can’t find him anywhere,” she said. “Why on earth would he do that?”

Who the fuck was Phineas? As to Fawkes, my best guess was the bird knew. Were feathers the same as hair? If he got splashed he might be hopping around somewhere, naked as the day he was born—serves him right. I didn’t have a story yet and if I opened my mouth right now I would cry.

They waited until it became clear I wasn’t going to talk and explain anything and Minerva turned yet again to the Mediwitch, “Poppy!”

“Minerva, Poppy, could I have a word alone with Albus.”

My internal ‘why!’ was echoed by my Deputy.

“I think we can clear this up with a small private chat,” Severus said.

“Really, Severus?” Minerva asked her voice cool. “Albus has no need to hide anything from us.”

“I think it is a good idea,” Poppy spoke up, and shooed her hands at the other woman. “Severus is right, let’s go wait outside, Minerva.”

“Fine.” She dropped my hand and stood up. “We cannot waste time on this nonsense, Albus, we have to plan!” she tried a last time, and when I refused to respond she stormed out, chin raised to high heaven.

Snape shucked his wand out of his sleeve—remembering mine falling out I would love to know how he did that—and waved it at the doorway, muttering something under his breath. “There. No one can hear us now.” He turned to me with a strange smile. “Do you want to go have a look at yourself in the mirror?”

Oh he didn’t. Furious, feeling my blood boiling, I sat up and couldn’t rein in my tongue. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“Not at all. Who are you.”

“What—” My stomach _lurched_.

“The Albus I know, and Minerva will realize it once she comes to her senses, would never make such a potion.” His gaze sharpened. “Look me in the eyes!”

The wimp in me automatically deferred to the authority in his voice and I looked up into his dark eyes.

"_Legilimens_!"

The room swayed, everything tilted and I blacked out a second time that night. It was quite pleasant.

I came to with Minerva fervently taking Snape to task for being the worst sort of idiot, using Legilimency on a toddler. Her words. Did he know? Was he going to expose me? I peeked through my lashes. They were standing at the foot of my bed, and both turned to look at me.

“It needed to be done," he defended himself, not looking sorry at all. "He’s been acting odd since dinner."

“Poppy already confirmed that he is Albus! He has the body of a four year old child, Severus, you could have done his mind irreparable harm!”

“I know my craft, Minerva, he only fainted.”

“He only...oh well that’s fine then.”

“Explain Fawkes attacking him,” he countered, sounding unimpressed with her sarcasm.

“We have just word of the portraits to go on, Severus. I very much doubt it happened like that,” said my staunch supporter.

“Minerva. The Albus we know would have been up, flouncing about in his nightshirt, ordering us to bed, and promising he would sort it all in the morning. This one keeps pinching his lips together, looking like he wants to cry! He refuses to tell us anything of value and has spent the last two minutes pretending to be asleep!”

“Because he is also a four year old child!”

“No. I beg to differ. He only looks like a four year old child, he had strong Occlumency shields up which no child would be able to manage,” he said.

I had? Does this mean he hadn’t found me out? What will I do? I dare not admit being an insert, but how else would I explain a supposedly intelligent member of their society dipping himself accidentally into a potion that had just moments before MELTED my beard, diving after a lollipop. By the way, it was nice not to have an itchy chin anymore.

“Albus, we can see you are awake,” Minerva sighed. “Stop fooling around and tell us what happened. Do you remember?”

Amnesia! Oh my word, she is a lovely woman. My eyes flew open of their own accord and I rose up. The trope that solved all troubles—thank you, Minerva, goddess of—

“No.” Snape spat. “Don’t you dare.”

Are you reading my mind? I thought at him.

“No, I am not reading your mind, it is clear as day on your baby face that inspiration has struck, you forget we deal with children every day here, Albus. Don’t you dare claim memory loss!”

I turned to Minerva. “I am sorry,” I told her in my newly minted child’s voice and pushed my spectacles higher up my nose to squint at her, ignoring the greasy bat who was turning out to be no friend of mine. “I don’t remember anything. Who are you?”

Their faces were a treat to behold.

Swaying forward, Snape went nearly apoplectic with rage, his eyes bulging at me. “Nonsense!”

Minerva in contrast turned pale. “Albus?”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

She swung to Snape, suddenly a vicious Harpy, and shouted: “Irreparable harm, Severus! See what you’ve done!”

Don’t retaliate, is what my mom had tried in vain to teach me since I was knee high. Which I suppose I am again. If someone smacked me I would soon smack them twice. If my sisters tickled me for a minute I would tickle them for ten. Well, I’m sorry but it was fun to see Snape have a fit and I could imagine him now much more clearly in the Sirius Black debacle. Anyway he started it with the mind whammy, so there. If not for Minerva looking like she was about to cry—Ha! Join me!—I would have let it go on a while longer.

“I’m sorry Minerva, I was just having a bit of fun with…” I flapped my hand at Severus who had stormed out to interrogate the portraits. “I meant I don’t remember anything about Fawkes, I cannot imagine he would ever attack me, are you sure you can’t find him? All I remember is feeling dizzy and then the next thing I woke here in bed with you holding my hand.”

There was a moment where I feared she would bite my head off whole but then she deflated. “This really will not do.” She sank down on the edge of my bed instead, touching pale fingers to her brow. “Now is not the time for fooling around, Albus. We have to plan, you cannot be seen like this.”

“Why not? It’s just magic after all, I am smaller but I am still me. Filius”—I remembered!—“manages just fine.”

“There will be a debate on that. Filius might be short but he still looks like an adult, Albus. Severus would not be the last one to disagree and what if they do decide you are not who you declare yourself to be, the Wizengamot will be up in arms!”

“Not to talk about the old Death Eaters who would love to get their hands on such a potion, or better yet the potion maker. You cannot defend yourself in this state,” Snape said from the door. He turned to Minerva. “See? This is why I say impostor, Minerva. Albus would have already thought of this.”

Honestly this was getting tiring. Did he have Albus on a pedestal or what? Albus this Albus that, it’s enough to make me sick.

“Well what do you propose we do, Severus?” Minerva asked.

“If Poppy is right and this is not going to wear off then we have to hide him until I can make an antidote. I say we send him to Aberforth and cover for him here. It’s not too difficult to say he is out when someone looks for him.”

“Aberforth! No!” I won’t be pushed off on any strange man that supposedly hated me!

“I will not send a child to live in a pub,” Minerva said. I fell a bit more in love with her.

Severus Snape threw his hands in the air. “I thought we decided he was an adult in a child’s body!”

“Be that as it may, for others he will look like a child. Besides, they have a very strained relationship and how well would he be protected there? Hogwarts is the safest place if we fear abduction.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. I can just stay in my rooms.”

“For the weeks it might take for me to make an antidote? All right, problem solved. Let’s go Minerva. We have an hour until we need to wake up and face the horrors of a new school year.”

“Severus…” she said in a _tone_, and he visibly sagged.

“Fine. Then he can go with you… a grandchild that you’re looking after. You’re already managing most of the school, we can direct the ministry owls to your apartments and he can continue his responsibilities from there. It’s not as if the owls will let us have his mail anyway, impostor or not.”

“I have too much on my plate to look after a child. Besides, I would need to have had my own children to be able to have a grandchild, where do you propose I get them from.”

“I’m not a child.”

“A nephew then,” Snape said, ignoring me.

“My family is well known, it will not be believed for a moment. No. I think he should live with you.”

“Over my dead body!”

“I am not going to live with him!” I shouted. My new voice made it sound pathetic. Like a child throwing a tantrum. Oh where was that deep voice of… hours ago. All it needed was for me to kick my legs.

“Yes, a secret affair,” Minerva mused. I could have spared my breath for the two of them were engaged in battle and at that moment I did not exist. “Your son has moved in after an unfortunate accident where his mother—”

“No!” It was Severus’s turn to sound like he was throwing a tantrum.

“Yes.” She stood up and spoke with such finality that I for one was immediately convinced my future was with Snape. There was going to be no way to refuse her. “Do not forget, Severus, I am still the Deputy Headmistress and as such I am making this an order.”

“People are not idiots, Minerva. Albus disappear at the same time that a younger Albus pops up? Even if we call him something else they are going to put two and two together.”

“Then Albus will be at breakfast this morning with the two of you,” she said and marched to my bathroom—really these people were very comfortable in my rooms. She came back with a hairbrush. “I am sure you keep some Polyjuice around.”

“I do not have extra room for him, I only have the couch.” Was his last weak kick against the tide.

“He is small. I am sure he will fit.”

* * *

While the whole school was gawking at Severus Snape’s new son, while Minerva/Albus was happily munching toast next to us, I fell asleep in my porridge.

* * *


	4. The Intrepid Explorer

The thing is, I might not survive the six or so years Dumbledore had left before the ring got him. Supposedly wizarding children don’t die off so easily, the bouncing Neville being a good example. But I was in a completely new world, where I had no idea even what was safe to touch. 

Not that it stopped me.

Which is why the dying part came to play. More of that later.

Snape woke me up with a sandwich. “What’s your name,” he barked while I was still groggy, struggling to open my eyes, and scrabbling blindly for my glasses.

“Albus.” 

I had just had a dream where every portrait in the castle hissed 'Albusss' as I passed. The answer came without hesitation. I found my glasses on the low coffee table next to the couch and put them on, only to wish I hadn’t. The man stood towering over me, face severe, looking extremely put out at my answer. He clattered a plate and glass down on the table with more noise than was necessary.

“Eat and wake up,” he said. “You can’t sleep the whole day, or you will never be able to sleep tonight.”

“I’m sure I will,” I answered, just to be stubborn.

“Poppy’s instructions. You’ll be interested to know she gave me a whole list on childcare. According to her you will be grumpy if you do not sleep in a proper schedule and I am not going to put up with a moody child. Eat, and when you are done you can write down your potion, there’s everything you need.” 

He pointed to a heap of parchment, topped with inkpot and quills. If it wasn’t for the potion part I would have been delighted to have a go at calligraphy with quills. I might not have been a true Potterhead but the books had started a fashion.

“Or are you going to pretend you don’t remember?” he broke through my thoughts, curling his top lip.

I should say something to him about his attitude. Real Dumbledore would probably want some respect, but my stomach grumbled. I can’t remember how much of the porridge I had eaten, and besides, he couldn’t prove it before. I doubt anything had changed now, so I ignored Snape in favour of inspecting the food he had brought me. Cheese and tomato sandwich. Dammit. I picked the tomato slices out and was not about to lick my fingers clean, ew. My hand never reached my clothes though, Snape caught it midway and wiped my fingers with fast, efficient movements into his handkerchief.

“So you did your homework. It still doesn’t mean I believe that you are Albus,” he snapped.

“What?”

“More than one person knows Albus doesn’t eat tomatoes. You will need to try harder than that!”

The fuck? Asshole. Hunger made me bite and chew before I snapped back. 

“No? You’re the one that needs to try harder. If so many people know about the tomatoes then it was a poor test,”—I swallowed—“Severus.” I took another bite and the food powered my brain. I had the perfect thing to say. I pulled out my most disappointed tone, squeaky voice be damned, “My dear boy, is all this really necessary? I am and will always be me. Why won’t you accept it and save us all this fuss.”

Snape reared back, his face a picture that spoke a thousand words and none of them kind. “I will be in class for the rest of the afternoon,” he snarled and swung about with a flare of his robes to storm away, slamming the door behind him.

It was a relief to be alone. 

My shoulders sagged, and I slumped over the plate, taking my time with the rest of the sandwich. The bread was thick grainy slices. It tasted homemade, and whoever prepared it had not skimped on the cheese. House-elves I supposed. If I wasn’t enjoying my own company so much I would have tried to call them to ask for more. The drink was a glass of milk, which I rolled my eyes at, but internally I sang hallelujah that they hadn’t thought pumpkin juice to be healthier. Besides, a cold glass of milk not only staved off left over hunger, but was delicious as well. I did not mind at all.

I took a good look at my dimly lit surroundings. The room was tiny, just big enough for a threadbare sofa, coffee table and a single armchair, all done up in dark greens and browns. The wall behind me was crowded with books, very much similar to my office, but looking musty in this light. The facing wall had an enormous fireplace, big enough for Snape to stand upright in, and orange flames crackled, filling the room with a nice and toasty heat. Two doors finished the setup, one into which Snape had disappeared. I went exploring through the other, doing a good job ignoring how strange it felt to have the doorknob eye-height and having to use two hands to turn it.

The first room was an office that must double as brewing station. The cauldron on the table was as big as a cooking pot, and currently empty, which was just as well. A stack of parchment piqued my curiosity. Summer homework for the fifth years, a Comparative Analysis of Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts. I gave them a scan. Incomprehensible penmanship that hurt my eyes, and half of it didn’t make sense. Their thoughts meandered in every direction, did they have to drink the draught before they did the homework? More books against all the walls, the place was turning into a veritable library. A book growled when I tried a closer look, and after that I carefully kept my distance. A cabinet full of writing materials. Racks and racks full of jars. A good few held what looked like pickled baby animals, others had lidded eyes that turned to watch my doings, and blinked at me. Pushing on with a little bit more speed to the only other door at the far end, the hairs on my neck rose as I passed. I felt a momentary giddy happiness that I hadn’t inserted into something like The Jewel of the Nile, for I would have made a terrible explorer.

The door led to a bedroom. Doom and gloom yet again, this time in silvers and greens. The lighting everywhere was shite sconces, and the dim glow probably hid a truckload of dust. Well not so shite maybe. On closer inspection I saw they were floating unaided above my head, and magic couldn’t be called shite.

Snape’s bedroom was extremely tidy. I wisely ignored the cabinets and closet—I really didn’t want to know what he would do to me if he found me going through his personal stuff—to pass through yet another door at the far end. Well, all right, I did stop to take in the prerequisite trunk at the foot of the bed in a hands-off sort of way. It looked old, the wood well worn. It had the initials S.S. stamped on the lid, and the brassy handles turned out to be curling snakes. It was everything I thought a Slytherin’s school trunk would look like. Glee bubbled up inside me as it finally hit me. I was in Harry Potter world! The trunk, more than anything else for me, was such a symbol of going to Hogwarts that I spent some time gaping at and examining it as close as I dared without actually opening it, before passing to the next room. (Fine, it was locked, I tried. Kill me.)

Snape’s rooms seemed to be one long row of boxes, each attached to the next. It was a stupid way to organize lodgings if you asked me, and I’ve yet to find a kitchen. There were no windows anywhere, and I did not need to wonder why the man was so pale. Honestly, if I had a kid in Slytherin dungeons I would complain. Health aside, were definitely breaking some fire-safety rules.

Finally a bathroom and nothing more. It was as large as the bedroom, with a rusty clawfoot tub where I would have expected a shower. A sink and a bench that doubled for seating and towel rack—ah there you are. A lone mirror in the corner. I made a beeline for it.

The fuck... They were not joking. I looked like a fucking three year old toddler. A dark haired, blue eyed, chubby cheeked toddler with spectacles. At least Poppy had fixed my frames to fit my new size, and lowered my prescription until I could see clearly again. They had dressed me in a dark blue robe taken from my own closet and shrunk, this time Minerva’s work. It hung to my ankles and I was still wearing the boots that she had transfigured. Snape either didn’t mind shoes on his couch, or just didn’t want to touch the impostor.

This time I did not remove any clothes. There was nothing in this child’s body that I wanted to see. They had shrunk my shorts too and hadn’t that been an embarrassment. I clutched my arms around me and tried to control my breathing. I know—I know, I am getting tired of it too. At some point I expect I would stop crying. You can at least give me a day or two until then. Or does it feel like ages already for you too.

A four-year-old bladder has much the same urgency as a hundred and ten year old one it seemed, and that’s all you need to know about the next part. Any ablutions now and in the future while I still inhabited this tiny frame, was going to be my business and mine alone.

* * *

The best thing about Snape’s rooms was no portraits. Not even a still life. Just to be sure I rounded them once more. None.

Back in the sitting room and feeling bold without supervision I kneeled down next to the coffee table to take up the smallest of the ivory coloured quills. The nib was a sharply cut point that pricked a hole in my palm when I tested it, and I sucked the blood away. The parchment felt like normal paper, looked a bit yellowish and smelled dry, a bit like dusty cabinets and nothing like what it was really made of. Surely Wizards didn’t use animal skin anymore? There was so much to learn. I was going to have to make a list. You would think Snape being a teacher would consider my smaller hands and give me an easier ink pot to open, for it was just by the grace of god that the whole thing did not spill when I finally managed to twist it hard enough, jerking it wildly. It was a boring black, and not the colour changing one Harry had found on his first shopping trip. I felt strangely let down.

Dipping the quill in the ink I watched the black liquid drip down back into the small pot. That’s another thing Potterheads were in contention about. The use of archaic quills and ink, when surely a fountain pen would do as well. If a ballpoint was out of the question then why not a pencil? Some say magical or whatnot particles in the ink would erode any other metals and clog the nibs. Others contend that Wizards were stuck in time and their old fashioned ways. I wish I had someone to ask. Can you imagine what would happen if I asked Snape? The man would have the mother of all fits and his very last dying words would be ‘Aha!’

I put the quill to parchment. The idea that I would be able to write down the potion was laughable but fear not, I did have a plan there. For now, in my best calligraphy, I penned:

_ **I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.** _

The quill felt too large and unwieldy in my small fingers and left the tips of three black, but on the writing itself I don’t think I did a bad job. I let the parchment roll back up and sighed. It’s probably a very bad idea to start a list of things I wanted to learn. The internet age has taught us very well: Don’t write down anything you wouldn’t want read. Thing is I was going to need to know a lot of things and very fast if I wanted to pass as Albus, but how? Best I could do was a little mental list.

_Things to learn.  
What is parchment made of. Please don’t let it be animal skin.  
Why quills and not pencils or pens or fountain pens or any damn thing that didn’t turn the tips of pudgy baby fingers black.  
Everyone's names.  
Why was there no kitchen and how do I get a snack..._

It was boring being alone. 

I gathered up some courage, and peeked through the door Snape had left through to find another office. Why would the man need more than one? This room had two doors, one with frosted glass set into the upper half and I crept closer to hear his voice drone behind it. Class then. There was a keyhole to peek through, and I was just the right height for it. I caught a glimpse of students sitting behind cauldrons before a black shape obscured everything, and my heart beating wildly in my throat, I hurried nervously back to the sitting room not bothering with the second door. Breathless, I couldn’t keep myself from giggling. This was so awful! I swallowed a half hysterical laugh, gathering my nerves. This time I could quite proudly say I did not cry. Buck up buttercup, I might yet.

Boring-boring-boring. I wish they had a television. I missed my laptop. Youtube. If I had Youtube I could watch a video on how parchment was made, and need not bother asking anyone. Molly had a wireless, hadn’t she? Perhaps Snape had one in his other office, it would do no harm to check.

Five minutes later had me balancing on his chair. Standing on tiptoe on the armrests, I stretched to reach a jar full of hundreds of tiny lidless eyeballs that rolled as one in the direction of movement.

_"Fillet of a fenny snake, _

_In the cauldron boil and bake; _

_Eye of newt and toe of frog, _

_Wool of bat and tongue of dog, _

_Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, _

_Lizard's leg and owlet's wing, _

_For a charm of powerful trouble, _

_Like a hell-broth boil and bubble."_

Shakespeare’s_ ‘Macbeth’._ Ha! Contrary to what you might think by now, I was not stupid. I read. Eye of newt was probably mustard seed. In fact, most of the ingredients in witches brews were just names for herbs, most likely to sound scary to deter other people from practicing their witchcraft. Not in Harry Potter world. _In here when they say eyes they mean eyes,_ it was awful, gory and fascinating! It needed exploring!

I grazed the jar with the tips of my fingers. Nearly there, just a stretch more… maybe step up on the shelf there…

The crash was phenomenal. 

The whole rack tipped. Six shelves filled to the brim with jars came tumbling down—the little eyeballs flying over my head. I swear I saw the tiny pupils dilating, turning en masse to give me a perplexed look as I fell—flew!—in the opposite direction, before they shattered against the far wall. The ringing of exploding glass echoed through the small room long after the last shard fell.

Silence.

I found myself under the desk with a banged up elbow and fast blistering hand, all around me carnage. Snape was going to kill me. I was going to be one dead little Insert before the day was done. Holy mother of… The smell!

Face the music or run?

I ran.


	5. Fanboy.

Shards crunched into the thick soles of my boots. Through the only untested door, into the hallway and in a vague direction of ‘up’. That’s where my feet took me.

Did you know a four-year-old can speed? I had forgotten that. My fingers felt clumsy on doors and quills—and jars!—and I needed to give myself a little boost up on couches and chairs, but there was something great about my legs. I could take flight with this speed. They pumped up and down with endless energy, and three hallways over, up two flights of stairs, and down another long passage and I wasn’t even short of breath! Even before I had inserted I had started to creak, and come-on who can jog up flights of stairs like they were nothing. This was amazing, and for a while there I forgot why I ran, skidding down hallways and sliding around corners like I was an Olympic toddler. I would have been great in The Powerpuff Girls, only I don’t think it was ever a book. A shame. Anyway. I’m never going to walk anywhere again!

“Where are you going, little Albus!” a portrait called, and remembering my dream I picked up speed.

All good things must end though. (Which needn’t be so sad, most good things can just be repeated. Go again on that roller coaster, eat another slice of that cake.) My hand started to ache like crazy, and I slowed down to examine it. Shite. Bubbling green blisters on purple skin, the world tilted and I did the one thing I excel at—I hid my hand in my pocket. Oh, an awful thought sprung to mind, oh holy hell what if this was the same thing that killed Real Dumbledore…? Look, I know it was a cursed ring, but what was the curse? Could it have come out of a jar? Am I going to die now too? Oh, the irony if I die before Snape gets to kill me!

“What are you doing here, little Albus?”

“Oh fuck off,” I told the portrait, and swung around to give him a good piece of my mind for following me like a creep.

“Excuse me?” The affronted voice came not from the wall but a real human being a few feet away. At first I thought him a Professor, but no, it was just the toddler perspective that messed it up a moment.

“Sorry, I thought you were a portrait!”

Percy Weasley. I wouldn’t have recognized him if he hadn’t introduced himself. The actors were still the first faces I pictured with the names. He was tall, which doesn’t say much because even the first years were tall for me now, slim, had carroty coloured hair and wore spectacles similar to mine. Little golden frames that he pushed up on his long nose to see me better.

“I’m a prefect, you know,” he informed me at the end of his introduction, sounding snotty, looking down his nose at me.

“I know.” I gazed up at him and smiled. He had always been my favourite MC in fanfics, and don’t ask me why, so I didn’t care one whit how he sounded. Remembering all the teasing he got when he became a prefect, I tried a kindly, “I can see the shiny badge, is it nice?”

“Being a prefect?”

I nodded. My neck would fall right off if I had to look up at everybody.

There was a moment in which I thought he would raise his chin and say something that he might have thought profound, but he didn’t. Instead he grinned wide and happy. “It is lovely, I get to boss everybody around. Well, everyone except my brothers. Why are you in the halls?”

“I don’t have class. Why are you in the halls.”

“Funny. I am doing a round for stray little firsties. They always seem to get lost in the first few days so we try to help them. Do you need help back to your dad?” He crouched down, which was a relief, but now I could see his spotty chin.

_ Things to learn. _  
_ Parchment._  
_ Quills._  
_ Everyone's names._  
_ Where to get a snack._  
_ Do Wizards not have anything for spots or are their standards of facial care much more relaxed. Oh and teeth! And why are we wearing glasses!_

“Albus?” he repeated, sounding worried, waving his hand in front of my face. “You with me? Do you need help back to your dad?”

“Oh, definitely not. If you want to help you can direct me to a secret passage so I can hide better.”

“I would rather take you back to your dad.”

“I would really rather you didn’t,” I said, matching his serious tone. “Besides, I don’t think I fall under your jurisdiction.” My baby tongue struggled with all the syllables, making me sound like a true tot. I should probably tone it down, how do four-year-olds even speak?

“Good one, smarty pants,” Percy said with a smile and I relaxed again. “Jurisdiction or not, the halls are not always safe, especially for the young and wandless. You might as well give up, because I am not going to leave you alone. Want to tell me why you are hiding?”

“No,” I said, and just in case he didn’t take me seriously I shook my head also. “Nope,” I said again, popping the 'P' in classic fanfic way. That’s a terrible thing to read, but a surprisingly fun thing to do. I don’t think JKR did it in any of her books, and it nearly made me laugh out loud thinking that it might...pop up...in my book now. 

I must have looked tragic, trying to keep a straight face, for his voice suddenly sounded very sympathetic. “Trouble then?” he asked.

“Do you have a time-turner?”

“Ah, no. But I do know some useful spells, and it sometimes helps to just talk about things that bother.”

It was worth a try. I removed my left hand from my pocket and stuck it under his nose, the skin itching again near immediately. “Can you fix this?”

We both looked at my purple hand, fresh green blisters bubbling up. I was going to barf.

To Percy’s credit he did not turn a hair. “Oh, good job sticking that in your pocket,” he praised me in the universal let’s-mollify-the-toddler tone. “That was very smart. Put it back—”

“Why?” Hiding your injury was smart? Truly this world was weird. “Why is it smart?" This was really frustrating not knowing anything. “Why should I put it back?"

“Because pockets have Keep-safe charms, right?”

“Huh?”

He explained, carefully reaching out to put my hand back for me as he did so. It turns out that Wizarding robes were amazing. Pockets made by a good tailor could hold nearly ten times their volume, and had stasis charms so no parent would ever have to find anything yucky in the wash—his words—making my hand hurt less when I had hid it. The cloth of my robes and leather of my boots were made impermeable to all kinds of hexes and potions, and that’s the reason it was literally still spotless. A thing I hadn’t even noticed.

“We’ll go to Madam Pomfrey. She's the Mediwitch here, and she’ll fix you up—she can just about fix anything,” Percy said. “Are you good to walk? It’s a bit far.”

Yeah, no. "I don’t want to go to her, thank you. I thought you knew spells?”

“I do. I can fix nosebleeds and cuts quite good, and I have some Bruise balm for bumps, my roomie gets loads of those in Quidditch. I also know how to reverse most hexes and pranks. I am quite proficient in those, if I may say so myself." He preened and puffed his chest up. "Why don’t you want to go to her?”

“She’s going to”—worry/fuss/laugh at me, pick one for I don’t know her yet—“tell my dad.”

“Probably not. She is quite good at not asking things.”

“Why. She should ask things and tell parents.” This was something that really bothered me when I read the books. No one ever called the parents when the kids were petrified or at any other time that I know of. “If it was my kid I would want to know.”

Percy Weasley just looked at me, understandably perturbed with my double standards.

“I still don’t want to go to her,” I said, not caring.

“I will show you one secret passage after you’ve seen Madam Pomfrey, how’s that.”

“Show it to me before.” For I have fast legs, Mister Weasley, and I did not say it’s a deal.

He eyed me speculatively but stood up anyway, dusting his knees. “All right. Let’s go.”

Two steps down the hall he held out his hand. I nearly broke my neck right off to glare up at him, love or no love there was limits! “I’m not going to hold your hand!”

“Chocolate.”

“What!?”

“Stop shouting and have some chocolate, you little snot nosed twat. I don’t want to hold your hand either.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Percy Weasley had just called me a tw—well you heard him! Tears clogged my nose, and misery tightened my throat. I struggled to think.

He stopped also, his hand still stretched out towards me. In it a small golden box with a little plastic window through which I could see a chocolate frog.

I didn’t want anything from him if he was going to break my heart and call me names. But oh, I really, truly wanted my first chocolate frog to be from him. He had been my very first book crush, and it would just be perfect if he hadn’t just called me a… “I’m not a twat, you are!” I snapped at him, and grabbed the box before he could change his mind.

“I apologize,” he said while I struggled to put it in my other pocket, hampered in doing it with one hand. “I have six siblings and we are always calling each other names. I did not think you might not be used to it.”

“We’ve only met two minutes”—There, finally in. I stuck my hand in my pocket and held it tight. Safe.—“ago, and it is too short a time to be so familiar. For instance, I wanted to ask you if there’s spells for spots or not when I saw your chin, but I didn’t, did I? These things should wait until we know each other longer than a minute, even a day would have been better. Good manners!”

“My apologies, Master Snape,” Percy said with a small bow.

I nearly had a heart attack, and instinctively twisted about to check if Snape was behind me. I couldn’t figure out if Percy was laughing at me or not, for his face was carefully blank when I turned back, hot faced myself. The twinkle in his blue eyes could be from the glasses. 

“You are right, I acted much too familiar," he said. "Shall we go, then?” He swept his hand out, motioning down the hall like a butler.

I balked. “You said secret passage.”

“So I did, it’s around the corner. Come along then, I still have to return to class sometime this year.”

The earlier levity was gone. I trudged by his side, unsure if it was my fault or his. Had I overreacted? We rounded the corner and he stopped at the side of an armour, reached out and shook its hand. It swung aside with a harsh creaking noise that could wake the dead. How was that secret! A black hole appeared in the castle wall, one in which I would fit easily but Percy would have to crouch.

“In you go, I’ll be right behind you.”

“No.”

“No?”

I was four years old, a veritable tiny tot that just took candy from a stranger, and was about to follow him through a dark passage that led to who knows where. I saw the movie. I took a step back. A quick glance showed no portraits and an empty hall. No one to hear me if I screamed…

Percy shook the armour’s hand a second time and the whole thing screeched shut again, with a nails-on-a-blackboard level of pain. “In case you were curious it leads straight to the infirmary." 

Oh well played, sir.

"That’s probably why no one has oiled it," he continued. "I doubt it’s used much. We can walk there, all right?” he said, and turned back to the passage, ever so casually not looking if I will follow. 

I followed. What else could I do?

We traversed one long hall in silence.

“Thank you for the chocolate.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another hall.

“I’m sorry I shouted at you.” I scuffed my boots, kicking at the stone floor.

“You needn’t be," he answered kindly. "I was wrong to call you names, in fun or not. I’ve given it some thought and would probably not have done so had you not told me to fuck off—”

“I thought you were a portrait.”

“Yes, I know. Like I said, it gave me a false sense of what would be an acceptable way to converse with you, and I need to apologise also.”

I sighed, if I wanted to fix this—and I do, oh I do—then maybe a bit of honesty was needed. “I may have overreacted," I admitted shame faced. "I thought you were serious that’s all. I’ll be okay if you called me a twat now. ”

“Yea?” He slowed his walk. “What if I called you a booger face.”

I would hate that. I kept my hands firmly in my pockets in order not to swipe at my nose, thinking fast. “As long as everybody else don’t start to call me that. Do you think they will? You being a prefect and all it might set a trend…”

“You’re right. I’ll just call you Albus. Unless you preferred Master Snape?” The last a clear tease.

“No! Albus is fine. Albus is great, thank you.” My mood swung bright in one second. I blame the toddler hormones. I nearly tripped over myself in happiness that all was good again between me and my favourite Weasly, smiling from ear to ear. Oh I am just embarrassing myself now. To cover my idiocy I said the first thing to come into my mind. “What is parchment made of?”

“Animal skin.”

No!

By the time we reached the infirmary he had explained in fair detail why we use quills. It was a long way, and still we hadn’t even touched on my next question. Our Percy was quite pedantic, that was no lie, but I did not complain. I had just realised I could ask him anything I wanted, and he would just think me a curious four-year-old. He would have no reason to shout ‘Impostor!’. He was in his element, and internally I stuck my tongue out at his family for not supporting him better, something I will rectify! After I'm done with Quirrell.

“Mister Weasley,” Poppy greeted Percy when he stepped into her office. “What can I do for you.”

“I brought you a little patient, Madame.” He stepped aside to show me.

“Albus?”

“P—Hiii.” I gave her a mini wave.

“Is everything all right?” she asked concerned, rising from behind her desk.

I prepared to run. “Yea, yes. We were just visiting...”

“Be brave.” Percy Weasley whispered from the side of his mouth, and winked at me.

How could I not be now? My stomach gave a delicious twist. Hating him a little bit for having this influence over me, I pulled out my left hand for her scrutiny.

“Oh dear. Whatever were you doing, Albus. Come along then. You may return to class, Mister Weasley, we will manage from here.”

“I will wait outside to walk him back, Madame.”

She eyed me speculatively. “Perhaps that’s a good idea,” Poppy agreed and shooed him out. Once the door closed behind him she turned to me, hands in her sides. “Right then. What have you done, dear.”

Ah, yeah. Time to be adult again. “Mister Weasley has assured me that our Mediwitch asked no questions. Don’t fail him now, Poppy. Can you fix it?”

She could. She still made me say what caused it, under the pretext that she needed to know what ointment to put. Only afterwards had I realized she had already started smoothing on the pink salve before I spilled all.

“Really, Albus,” she laughed as the blisters disappeared under her ministrations. “Are you going to need saving from Severus?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Poppy. The day that I cannot handle Severus is yet to arrive.”

Not ten minutes later she handed me over to Percy and we were back in the halls.

“Serious business now, Albus. I don’t mind missing history, but next up is Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall will annihilate me if I am not on time. I’m going to run you down to your dad, okay?”

“You can go to class. I will be fine by myself.”

“How about I’ll answer more of your questions on the way, would you like that?”

He was good. I nearly went for it but… Snape. “I can walk you to the class while you answer,” I countered.

At this Percy kneeled down next to me again, giving me a second look at his spots. “Why don’t you want to go back to your dad?”

Fine. Let’s see if you want to go back to him. “I accidentally broke all his specimen jars and would rather not be confronted about it.”

“Goodness.” Horror flashed over his face, but he did a good job containing it to give me a sympathetic shoulder pat. “And you’re scared of punishment. Do you think he will hurt you?”

That hadn’t occurred to me. Dare I say yes so Percy Weasley won’t insist I go back? Bigger question was: Would Snape hurt Albus Dumbledore? Definitely not. Does he think I am Albus Dumbledore? Definitely not. “You probably know him better than I do. You tell me.”

“I don’t think so. He might look a bit grumpy sometimes, but I think you’re safe.”

“That’s heartening to know, Mister Weasley,” Snape said behind me, sounding dry as dust.

“Sir!” Percy jumped up.

As for me, I took off down the hall at maximum speed. I was about to do a zig zag in case he threw a Leg-locker curse or worse at me, when I ran into an invisible wall, bounced off, and hit the floor. Which felt as soft as a pillow. Snape stopped next to me, wand out.

“Going somewhere, Albus?”

“Seems not.”

“What were you doing with Poppy.”

“I burned my hand and she fixed it,” I said, going for honesty. What use was it to hide it if he could just ask Poppy.

He frowned something fierce. “Can I trust you to walk back, or do I need to carry you?”

“You will really carry me?”

He bent down to examine both my hands a second, gripping and turning my pudgy digits with his long slim ones. Then he scooped me up as easy as pie and dumped me over his shoulder, ignoring my surprised yell. Behind him Percy Weasley stood gaping at us.

Snape swung about, and now I had only the empty hallway as view. “Continue on, Mister Weasley.”

“Yes, Professor.” He hesitated, though. I heard a scuffle of feet. “Sir, if I may—”

“No you may not.” We passed him at a steady clip. Under me, Snape sighed, “Go back to your class, Mister Weasley, I assure you young Albus will survive unscathed.”

Once the kid was out of sight I felt it safe to complain, and kicked my feet. “I didn’t actually mean you should carry me. Your shoulder is very bony, you know?”

“I know.”

“So will you let me down?”

“No, this way is faster, and I don’t have to run after you if you try to escape.”

“Poppy called you, right?”

“Poppy never calls, you would know that.”

“We’ve never had a four-year-old here.”

He sped up. I sulked over his shoulder. I didn’t want it to be faster. I wanted it to be slow, and if I was walking I could drag my feet… We were in the dungeons before I knew it. Back into the rooms, he dropped me unceremoniously onto the couch and loomed over me with his hands firmly on his hips.

“Are you ready to tell me who you are?” Severus asked.

“I am myself.”

“But Weasley knows me better than you do.”

“Oh? Did you want me to admit to him that I am his Headmaster? Did you want me to tell him that I've known you since you were eleven? Such a little snot nose you were. Quite the tw-scamp.”

A tiny tick started in his left eye, but he ignored my little bit of fun to hiss: “What I _wanted, _was for you to stay in these rooms.”

“Bully for you, you should have said.”

“You don’t even talk like Albus!”

Fuck fuck fuck. Fake it. “Yes. I am well aware of that. I cannot pontificate like a centenarian if I am going to pretend to be a child until we have solved this unfortunate issue, Severus. It would raise suspicion. Though Weasley seemed to think it was precocious."

“I am starting to think you can turn the school on its head without raising suspicion. You’ve certainly got Minerva and Poppy on board! Shall we discuss the mess you left here before you ran away? That seems to be a very childish thing also, were you pretending all on your lonesome here?”

“I happen to think it was quite sensible.” If he wanted me to be wordy I could oblige, and I had enough time over his damn bony shoulder to have thought something up. I pursed my lips. “My apologies, dear boy. Your collection was too interesting for little old me, I forgot my new size and… things fell.” I shrugged and settled deeper into the couch, affecting an air of calm. “Since I knew very well that you would not appreciate being bothered in class, I went for a walk in order not to wait in the fumes, making a little detour at Poppy's.” See? If I have time to think I can make a good story, these hallways are long!

“And that is why you ran away from me in the halls,” he scoffed.

“All an act for young Weasley.” I shrugged, feeling very proud of myself. Do you remember the Christmas hats and Real Dumbledore acting the silly goose whenever he could? Don’t tell me he would not grab at the chance to play the child if opportunity presented and Severus Snape should know it! “I must say, I find being a child quite invigorating. Do you know how easy this body can run?” I swear I FELT MY EYES TWINKLE. “It’s a shame to let such energy go to waste.” There he went again with that face. I pulled my own at him. “Do you not have class, Severus?”

“Do you not have a potion to write down, Albus?”

“Why do double work? It’s in my rooms. I will fetch it tomorrow.”

Let us bow our heads a moment in silent prayer that Dumbledore was a record keeper. He certainly had enough paperwork stacked on his desk. Ah well, things could always be mysteriously ‘lost’. I can blame it on Quirrell!

“We will fetch it after dinner.”

“Which is still very far off. Kindly organise me a snack before you go.” I flapped my hand at him and watched his eyes do their best to pop out. He should hire me. With this talent of mine there was no need to dice any newts, I could just flap my hand at them and snip the popping eyes... I told him so.

“You are impossible!”

“Food!” I called after his disappearing back, not really expecting him to listen. Nevermind, I had a frog!

The pockets kept the contents unsquashable—Percy’s words—and the little box had not been dealt any damage with my rough treatment. I set my treat on the coffee table and knelt next to it, examining the frog. It seemed lifeless. Did JKR have it wrong? That’s going to be bloody fucking dissapointing, I tell you. Fuck my life. With a sigh I pried the flap open. The chocolate frog bounced against my face, tiny fingers and feet scrabbling for purchase before it _LEAPT_.

It hit the wall and I scrambled after.

I learned I would probably never be a seeker. I learned that tired running legs can easily have a little bit more energy to climb furniture if it was for a good cause. 

The frog bounced all over the room and gave me a merry chase.

“Nooo!” I shouted when the outer door opened, and the frog saw its escape, aiming at it with a _magnificent_ jump.

Right onto Severus’s hook nose. 

He dropped a tray to slap a hand over the confection, plucking me mid-air out of my own leap with his other.

“_Albus!_”

Below my swinging legs the tray floated sedately above the ground, not a drop of my tea spilled. I had no time for Severus Snape and his wonderful feats.

“_Don’t let him go!_”


	6. Sweet tooth.

We didn’t go to my office that night. I fell asleep in my soup while still eyeing the custard tart, and woke up the next morning on the couch, Snape shaking my shoulder.

Breakfast was in the Great Hall, and only half of the school was staring at me today. Snape hoisted me into a chair next to what looked like a mountain of brown leather topped with a bush. I would have fallen right off again if Severus hadn’t reached out and steadied me. Fuck me. A giant. He was huge! Nothing had prepared me for such a huge human being!

“What?” Snape frowned, settling next to me. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Note to self, some people have sharp ears. “I’m hungry.”

The mountain turned to look down on me. “Will yeh be introducing me to yer little one, Professor Snape?”

“Rubeus Hagrid, Albus, Albus, Hagrid,” Snape said, scooping scrambled eggs into my plate following it with buttered toast. He paused, “That will be Mister Hagrid to you,” he corrected with a funny smile, before pushing a glass of what was clearly milk—thank god—over to me.

“Aww everyone calls me Hagrid, t’would feel odd if ye didn’t. How’d ye like the school, little Albus?”

It seems I was going to have to accept the diminutive in front of my name. I decided to play along. “It’s nice, thank you, Mr. Hagrid.”

Snape hadn’t given me any bacon, and the tray was well out of reach by his side. To his open disgust I stood up on the chair to reach over him. He tsked at me. To get him back I grabbed his neck in a bear hug, nearly sticking the bacon in his eye, and told Hagrid how much I loved being here with my daddy. On his other side Minerva choked in her tea. Oh this was going to be fun!

Teasing Snape turned into a delicious little game that whiled away breakfast. By the last bite I had Hagrid believing I adored the man, and thought him the best father ever. I also had a standing invitation to visit the giant and his menagerie any time I wanted, which I was quite looking forward to. This was the year of the dragon, wasn’t it? The only thing that marred my fun was the sight of Quirrell talking to some students. I really needed to start a To Do list.

Being thoroughly irritated, Snape barely waited for me to swallow the last bite before he dragged me back to his class. A row of students had already gathered. He ordered them into the room, and pulled me through to his study.

“I am glad you had your fun, Albus, now it is my turn. You are to stay in the rooms and don’t touch anything.”

With that he gave me a final push and closed the door between us with a sharp snap. Asshole.

* * *

His mistake was not locking the outer door, and thinking I am a dog that will listen to ‘stay’ when there was a whole castle to explore. Have I said asshole yet? Asshole. Still, I waited patiently until I could hear his voice drone through the classroom door before I slipped out the other.

“Not running today then, little Albus?” The wall asked, and I turned to find a large portrait of a witch and wizard peering down at me.

“Why are you following me?”

“We expect some fun,” the witch said, smiling not unkindly. “Are you off anywhere special?”

“No.”

And I cannot stay here and chitchat. Snape could miss me at any time. I couldn’t very well tell the gossipy portraits where I was off to, for Real Albus would know which direction to take, so I told them loftily to mind their own business and sped up.

From the dungeons to the great hall I went uncontested. Everyone seemed to be in class. From there I retraced my steps with Minerva our first night, and soon came to the ugly gargoyle.

“_Twizzlers_.”

In Dumbledore’s office every portrait crowded forward to see me. I ignored them and their calls, and made a beeline for the potions room. There was something I needed to see. I remember grabbing it when I had nearly drowned, and it kept nagging at my mind. Keeping a wary eye out for angry phoenixes I entered the room.

The huge cauldron was upright but empty. The stone floor felt sticky under my boots, but other than that you would never think anything strange had happened here. At the far wall I found the paper bag full of candy undamaged. Not what I was looking for, but my sweet tooth made me quickly pocket the leftover sweets before searching further.

I found it under the bookcase, right next to the lollipop that started it all, and a hand closed around my ankle at the exact same time as I grabbed for it. Excuse me if I screamed. 

“Dear god, Albus since when do you swear like that,” Severus Snape asked once he had me out. Kneeling in front of me, he kept tight hold of my arms.

“Since you decided to frighten the life out of me! Why on God's earth did you do that!”

For the first time he looked abashed. “I thought you had a mishap.”

“What?”

“I thought you fell and were stuck, Albus. Excuse me if recent events had me consider that an option.”

“Then you call out and ask, you don’t just grab a person…!” It was safe in my pocket and I needn’t bluster anymore. Still, I wish I had more time, there were other things I needed from Real Albus’s rooms.

“What were you doing down there?”

I held the lollipop aloft and watched any last feelings of guilt at my rough treatment disperse from the thin face.

“You made me leave my class, to come find a child who was just after a lollipop?” he asked, enunciating every word with utmost care.

“No one told you to follow me, Severus.” I pulled myself up to my full three-feet-something. “You forget yourself. I am not a child.”

“How can you say that when everything you do is so childish, Albus!” He grabbed my hand that still clutched the dusty sweet and held it aloft in front of my face. Exhibit A, I suppose. “I told you to stay in the rooms!”

Instinct wanted me to cower from his loud voice, but my brave declaration to Poppy was still fresh enough to make me stand fast. “My dear boy, since when am I to be ordered about?”

“Since you became so small that anyone can pick you up and carry you off! Have some sense, Albus! It just needs one portrait to spread the word and we’ll have no way to keep you _safe_.”

“The portraits are loyal, you exaggerate.”

“And you underestimate their stupidity.” He stood up. “I cannot keep you safe if you don’t listen to me. Fine. Where’s your formula so I can get started on the antidote.”

Fuck if I knew.

“You’re the one that wants it. You find it.”

The lollipop might be beyond eating, it had been in the potion right? But I already drank the potion, so that might not matter. More worrying was all the fluff stuck to it. I ignored him to pull what looked like a feather from Fawkes off it.

Above me Snape swore, then, without even a by your leave he grabbed the candy out of my chubby little hands and vanished it before stalking off to search the rooms.

“I can wring your little neck,” he hissed over his shoulder.

“What a silly thing to say. Soon I will be my rightful age again, and you’ll remember all these threats against your headmaster with shame.”

I followed him like a little tail, decidedly not helping. True I would also like to not be a four-year-old, but it might be better than being a hundred. I was willing to not worry about it. I did pay careful attention to the places he searched though, for I wanted something else, something that might help this Insert in the troublesome times ahead. This was Harry Potter world, after all. Trouble was a given.

He even searched the bathroom. I idled after and grabbed up the toothbrush no one had thought to bring me. I did a good job in convincing myself that this body was the same one that had used the toothbrush before, so I should be fine. Maybe I can run it under hot water first. There didn’t seem to be toothpaste, though, and I hadn’t seen anything down at Snape’s either, but his teeth were fine. In fact, I’ve been paying attention and everyone’s teeth seemed fine, all nice and straight and pearly white. It seemed the weird teeth that the wizards had in the movies was a JKR addition to the world, do you remember Flint’s? I could never understand that. Magical people with wonky overbites—where’s Percy when you needed to ask a question!

“Found it.”

What? “You did?”

He held it aloft, satisfaction oozing from his pores. Damn. Seems it was rolled up, fallen behind the sink. Hidden? Of all the places—what the hell, Dumbledore.

“Let’s go, Albus,” Snape interrupted impatiently from the door. “I still have a class to teach.”

Think, think! Ah! “You go ahead, my boy. I have some correspondence I still have to finish.” Brilliant, if I have to say so myself!

“Have you not listened to anything, I said?” Severus snapped and stormed to my office where he furiously waved his wand about. Every last scroll and paper whirled up from my desk and flew with military precision into a leather satchel. I thought it would never fit but I had forgotten again. Magic. “You can do this in our rooms,” Snape argued, “it will keep you out of trouble, and tonight you will see Poppy again, mark my words! There’s something seriously wrong with you, if you are Albus—since when am I your boy!”

Shit. Fanon! Seems something that was once a pleasure will be getting me into frequent trouble now.

I did not move quick enough for Master Snape, and for the second time in so many days he picked me up and carried me to the dungeons.

I protested of course. “Let me down or I will shout.”

“Shout away. They’ll just think my son is throwing a tantrum. I might even get some sympathy in this place.”

He carried me past his class. Every last kid’s head was bent studiously over their books, not even an eye peeking at us. I was dumped in his office, the satchel thrown down next to me.

“Will you stay where I put you?”

“I might. If I had a snack.”

He growled at me.

“And not just one sandwich either, I am a growing boy!” I shouted after his retreating back. His growling had reminded me of Sirius, yet another thing in the long list that I had to sort. I needed a list.

Snape stormed out to his classroom, to return moments later with one ham and cheese sandwich, and the ever present glass of milk. I might have to reconsider my love for milk soon. Anyway, I really wanted to know where he got it from, but damned if I would ask. Did he have a pantry there?

The plate refilled as soon as I picked up the second slice, nearly making me tumble from the chair in shock. Once I ate my fill I had a right good time stacking the desk end to end full of sandwiches. Each time I took one, another appeared. Magic was awesome! An Endless Sandwich plate! Amazing. I stashed a few in my pocket, and left the rest for whoever was going to clean up, feeling a bit guilty about the waste, but what was done was done.

I scarpered.

I didn’t promise to stay after the snack, did I? Snape should have had some forethought to lock the outer door. Really, he had only himself to blame.

* * *

I still hadn’t finished my business in the office, but that was probably the first place Snape would look so it could wait. I decided to explore, and took off in a little more purposeful jog than the day before, carefully watching where I went.

A bell rang and I dodged the students. No one thought to stop me, but I had no problem stopping them. I had a mission. I wanted to see the library and the Grand Staircase, not having seen either the day before, and soon got directions to both.

The stairs filled me with honest to goodness awe. Multiple staircases moving from platform to platform, some creaking slowly while the very next would swing with speed that made your robes flap. All the while students rushed up and down. The majority looked like they knew exactly where they were going, taking it in stride when a stairway would suddenly turn about and let them off in the opposite direction they were aiming at. It was a madhouse, and I loved it. I spent a good amount of time running up and down, aiming for the fastest staircases until it must have tired of me, for it finally dropped me off in a hallway and refused to pick me up again.

For a minute there I had a scare, remembering Harry and co. being dropped off on the third floor corridor, but it soon became apparent that I was on the Library’s level. A student carrying a stack of books higher than himself was the clue. I couldn’t see his tie behind the books, but I took a fair guess he would be a Ravenclaw and backtracked from where he came.

Madam Pince stood firmly in my way. Dressed in a stark grey robe, her thin face and hooked nose gave her the appearance of a vulture. A scary vulture that towered over little old me. Her skin looked like dried up parchment, probably a product of osmosis, and she stood in the open doors, barring my entry with a fierce, protective stance.

Behind her was the library, huge vaulted ceilings, an incredible glowing cathedral filled with books. For once JKR had got it right, there must be hundreds on hundreds of rows, so much knowledge!

“No, you may not enter. The Library is for students only, not for little children with sticky paws.”

I stuck my hands behind my back. “It’s not!” I only had a few toffees, you needed energy in this place where everything was so damn far from everything else. I haven't seen any bathroom signs or I would probably have gone to wash my hands. Maybe. Come-on there's more important things, right? Being so close to heaven, just to be denied entry, I lost my cool a bit and stamped a foot. “I demand you let me in! Do you know who I am?!”

I was thinking Dumbledore, forgetting myself for a moment there, but she pinched her whole face into one big sour wrinkle and told me otherwise. “You are little Albus Snape, a dirty little motherless snake that’s not welcome here,” she hissed. “You will take not a step further.”

Oh. That was so harsh. My ears rang, my vision became unexpectedly hazy, and I struggled to breathe—was she hexing me? Was this how I was going to die? After only two days?!

“I’ll take him, Madame,” someone said, their voice sounding far off. I did not struggle against the hand that steered me with a firm grip on my head, out and away from the woman who had just called me a motherless snake.

It was Percy.

Unlike me, he could differentiate between tears and dying. It was just as well, because I couldn’t manage anything at that moment. He took me to a secluded alcove, and seemed well versed in supervising a crying fit. I must say, being hugged and cuddled on someone’s lap was much nicer than doing it alone behind closed doors.

“I just wanted to see the books!” I wailed against his school robes, dripping tears on his tie.

“I know.” He hugged me tighter. “Books are amazing.”

“I’m not a m-m…”

“Of course not. That was a very mean thing to say. Shh.” He patted my back. “Don’t worry about it, I have two little brothers that will prank her for you, shh.”

He patted and soothed, and told me all about Fred and George who were just to be pointed in a direction and they would make sure justice was served. By the time I had cried myself out, I was too tired to be embarrassed that a fifteen year old was making me blow my nose and wipe my face, cleaning my splotchy glasses for me. (But believe me later that night I would cringe. Two o’ clock to be exact.) I also did not capitulate when he suggested taking me back to my dad. I was ready for a nap, though I did put my foot down against being carried there.

Right. Emotions. I am not going to talk about them. I have them and I’ll repeat, Tumblr said it was okay. It was perhaps too soon to tell, but things felt much more intense since I came, and more so since I shrunk. They also did not seem to last long. Would that change? I don’t know. What I do know is I was happy enough to ask Percy some important questions once we were on the way. More so when he tucked a soft candy into my hand, explaining that it was an Ice Mouse. It did indeed look like a small white rodent, whiskers and all, was fluffy like a marshmallow and tasted exactly like you just had a glass of cold water after eating mints.

* * *

“Why do we have toothbrushes like Muggles.” I asked the serious questions while my teeth chattered and squeaked.

“Because we invented it. Then the Muggleborn took it to their relatives. I think they got quite wealthy too, and it had the benefit that loads of Muggles started looking after their teeth also.”

“I can’t find any toothpaste though.”

I had figured it out. If anyone was safe to ask, it was Percy or any other kid—once I knew more of them. They would just chalk it down to natural four-year-old curiosity, and I could learn everything Snape and the others thought I should already know.

“So your mum was a Muggleborn? I thought so.” He reached down and ruffled my hair, prodding me to turn down a dark hallway. “If you stick your toothbrush under the tap it will foam up by itself—it lasts a good while. You should really ask your dad these things, he is very smart.”

I pulled a face at the advice and told him: “Muggles have mouthwash. And floss. And Dentists.”

“What are those.”

“Mouthw—”

“Is self explanatory.” He pulled my ear until I slapped his hand away. “Tell me about floss and Dentists.”

I did. In turn he told me about a special tea that wizarding children drank when their first tooth fell out. A key ingredient was fairy dust that they found under their pillow, which, _get this_, _the Tooth Fairy had left in exchange for the tooth._ According to Percy Weasley, fountain of knowledge, this magical concoction assured them straight white adult teeth.

“You’re fucking with me.” I stopped to gape at him, giving my teeth the opportunity to squeak anew. “The Tooth Fairy is real?”

“Out of curiosity, do you swear like that in front of your dad?”

“Maybe.” I desperately wanted to tell him it is none of his business, but I have learned my lesson. Percy was sensitive. Truth be told, I _have_ semi-watched my language in front of Snape, but only because I didn’t know what Real Albus’s favourite expletives were. The man didn’t need more ammunition to expose me. “What if you swallow your first tooth,” I asked, bringing him back on track.

“Then you wait until the second.”

“What if you swallow ALL your teeth. Maybe it fell out while you were eating or you swallowed it in your sleep like a spider. Can you borrow a tooth from someone else, or is the dust going to be for them only.”

“What spider?”

I told him about reading in an article (It was _WTF fun facts_, it ranked high up there with dogs being able to see their own farts), that a person swallowed around eight spiders in their sleep every night. He looked dubious. Okay maybe it was every year or something.

“You know, you are very smart to be able to read already, but maybe you should not believe everything you find, okay?”

“Well it could have been eight spiders in your lifetime,” I admitted, but shrugged it off. I’m an Insert, I am willing to believe most anything by now. Heck my teeth were chattering! “What about the teeth, Percy, what happens if I swallow them all?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling up behind his lenses. “I’ve not heard of anyone swallowing ALL their teeth, but if you want you can try it and let me know what happened.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’ve heard them say that.”

“What if I never brush my magic teeth, will it stay white?”

“No. All the food will get stuck, and you’ll look like you swallowed old black and yellow piano keys. Madam Pomfrey has a particularly nasty potion for firsties who don’t remember to brush their teeth without their mums here to nag. Your dad makes it, and I promise you it’s horrid.”

“How do you know, did you have to drink it?”

“Yes.” The tips of his ears turned pink, and he found the ceiling very fascinating all of a sudden. I decided not to tease.

All the hours spent under the dentist’s drill, and I could have had that? “And it fixes your teeth like new?” I asked, stopping to gape at him again, tugging his sleeve for attention. We were walking in fits and starts, and the going was slow, but Percy did not seem to mind.

“Yes of course.”

“How come we cannot give these potions to Muggles.”

“Well good luck trying to get a Muggle to drink a potion with cockroach toes, but if he does he will just get sick, right? He needs to have magic inside him to intera—work with the magic of the potion or spell.”

“Spells don’t work on Muggles?” What nonsense was this, Death Eaters tortured them!

“Only the very strong ones, blasting spells and things that really hurt. Things like a tickle spell does nothing much, though they do make some pranks specially for Muggles. My dad actually has a job catching those,” he said proudly.

“Huh. Is there somewhere like a list of spells that work on them?” In the Library that I wasn’t allowed to go into? “Maybe your dad has one?”

“Sure. You’ll learn all about it when you go to school.” He stopped to look at me with a worried expression, and gave me an impromptu lecture. Muggles were not to be harmed, for they were in the end just like us and deserved to be left in peace. For all that I loved Percy it was a relief to see Snape marching towards us. Not that I was going to stay and wait for him to kill me.

I made a mental note to ask Percy how he knew about pianos before I took off like a shot in the opposite direction.

* * *

“I could get seriously hurt like this, how will you explain that to Poppy,” I told Snape from where I lay on the floor, having bounced spectacularly against his barrier. Fine, he had made it soft, with I suppose the Cushioning Charm, but what if he had been too slow?

He leaned over me, wand out, the whole scenario too familiar. “I will not be the one doing the explaining.”

I bared my chattering teeth at him.

Snape frowned. “Have you been crying?”

"No!"

* * *


	7. Antidotes for all

Back in the rooms he threatened to put a sticking charm on my 'arse', but did not follow through with it.

“If you need books I will bring it to you, Albus. Look in a mirror, did you think Irma would allow a small child into the restricted area?”

“I have all the books I need in my office.” I was systematically going through the material he had gathered from my desk. This time I took it very seriously, and half ignored Snape who stood arms crossed, watching me with a mixture of concern and irritation. I only told him Irma Pince didn’t let me in, nothing more.

“Then why were you there?”

“Not all my business is your business, Severus Snape,” I said. I was going to fire Irma Pince.

Lunch had been leftover sandwiches in the rooms, his idea of a joke—or punishment, who knows—but I was fine with it. My legs were starting to feel sore from all the exercise, and not having to walk to the dining hall was great. I munched away on the third sandwich while searching for the correct forms, but it all seemed to be correspondence. Would they have a staff manual? This was definitely something Dumbledore would know. Did I dare ask? A peek at Snape's stormy face told me, no.

Feeling frustrated, I sat back and tried to visualize my office and everything I had seen in it, but all it did was make me sleepy. I suppose I can just let Minerva do it, but then I would have to explain why I wanted to fire that cow, and I’d rather not at the moment. Maybe after a nap. That is something no one would ever have to force me to do. Naps were beautiful. If I was going to be the only four-year-old in this world that likes naps, so be it. I was not bothered by going against the flow.

“Where are you going?” Snape asked when I slid off the chair.

“I’m going to have a nap, Severus. If you want to watch me sleep you can come stand there, I don’t care.”

He did follow me into the sitting room, and he did stand cross armed while I snuggled down under the comforter. I settled on the couch, boots and all, Severus not saying a word. He might be nagging, but he was nagging about the right things. Minerva would probably get a heart attack if someone put their feet on the furniture, even without shoes.

“Wake me if there’s a fire.”

* * *

Time was truly nothing in the dungeons. When I woke, the light was the same quality as when I had gone to sleep. It could have been a minute had passed or one year, morning or night, for there was no windows in this awful place.

I stumbled to the bathroom and back, and filled with that musty, grumpy, wrong footed post nap wrath, I bemoaned the absence of a fridge. I missed my house. I missed being able to go into a kitchen whenever I wanted a drink. Or a snack.

Luckily I came prepared. My options were between a ham sandwich—of which I still had a few in my beautiful magical pockets—or I could see what candy I had left. Candy it would be. It should be near dinner time already, I am sure, let’s not spoil our appetite with food. I settled back onto the couch, made a vertical cocoon with the comforter, and delved into my beautiful magical pockets.

One of the things in my hands was not like the others.

What I pulled from my pocket was very far from a gobstopper. Ruby red, more so than blood, the stone glowed on my palm. How could I have forgotten it? It had rolled under the bookcase, and I had just enough time to hide it from Snape’s gaze this morning. Now what should I do? How the heck do I put it in the mirror. Presuming I actually found the mirror. It should be in an old classroom, waiting for Harry to discover it, right? There’s no way I was going to be able to pass the Cerberus either, and that’s without talking about carrying a huge ass mirror under my baby arms. Dogs were scary as shit. If they didn’t want to eat you, they tried to lick your face, slobbering everywhere for fuck's sake. Sorry, not sorry, but I am a cat person.

“Albus, if you are awake, I need your help,” Snape spoke from the doorway. I hurriedly pushed the stone into the couch.

“I’m not awake.”

“Stop fooling around,”—my cocoon was rudely plucked away and tossed on the floor—“and come help me fix your potion, it doesn’t make sense.” He paused. “Are you eating again?”

“I’m hungry, did I sleep past dinner?”

“It’s four o’ clock,” he scoffed. He dragged me through his now empty classroom, to the back, where a whole world full of horrors was waiting to be explored. “_Don’t touch anything!_”

We passed transparent urns, larger than me, brimming with enormous skittering bugs that looked ready to eat us. One whole wall filled with square wooden drawers of every imaginable size had my fingers itching to open each and every one. Rows and rows of crystal decanters, ranging from iridescent silver through all the colours of the rainbow and more, to a dull black that hurt to look at, all with alphabetized tags written in clear block letters. Shelves of specimen jars, housing eyes of every shape and colour, and was that ears? Oh God, why were they moving… toes? Gossamer butterflies that flitted about in teardrop shaped terrariums filled with miniature jungles, trays of moss in every green hue that existed, snake skin hanging in bunches next to twigs with fangs. He pulled me past all of this to the very back, where he had a cauldron as big as the one in my office suspended over a green flame. A lemony smell assaulted my nose and I gagged.

Snape pushed a familiar parchment into my hands. “What is this?”

I took a gander. Oh. OH.

_Dumbledore’s Lemon Curd._  
(A crowd pleaser.)

_Ingredients_  
6 T unsalted butter (room temperature)  
1 cup white sugar  
2 large eggs  
2 egg yolks  
2/3 cup lemon juice (freshly squeezed)  
1 tsp lemon zest

_Instructions_  
Juice and zest lemons.  
Separate yolks, and place whole eggs and yolks into a bowl.  
Using a mixer of your choice, beat sugar and butter until fluffy (2-3 minutes).  
Add eggs (slowly) and beat for an additional 1-2 minutes.  
Mix in lemon juice until combined.  
Pour into a heavy bottomed saucepan and cook over low heat until mixture is smooth.  
At this point increase heat to medium and cook until thickened (about 15 minutes).  
DO NOT boil, and stir constantly while cooking.  
Once you can leave a path along the back of the spoon, the mixture is done.  
Remove from heat and stir in zest.  
Place in a bowl and cover with plastic wrap.  
Be sure the wrap is touching the surface of the curd to avoid "skinning" while cooling.  
When cool, place in a sealed container until ready to use.  
It will keep for 1-2 weeks in the fridge.  
You can also freeze for later use.

Oh. I peeked into the cauldron. It was filled to the brim with a pale yellow broth, and looked like it might be a twin of the potion I had fallen into. But something was off… I couldn’t put my finger on it. How did he manage to make a whole cauldron full with this small amount of ingredients, did he double it? No, that’s stupid, more than mere doubling had happened here... it must have taken a truckload of eggs, where did he get all the ingredients? Was there a magical spell to increase size? And why was he making the potion when he should be concerned with the antidote. Holding my nose, I moved closer and the steam scalded my face before he jerked me back by the collar of my robe.

“Well?” Severus asked impatient.

“It looks like you’ve found my Lemon curd recipe. Look, it says so here right at the top.” I cannot believe he actually made it. “Dumbledore’s Lemon Cu—”

“I CAN READ!”

“THEN WHY ARE YOU ASKING ME!” It was extremely disorientating trying not to sick up from the horrible smell while being shouted at. I threw the scroll at him. “It looks done! You should place it in a bowl and cover it with plastic wrap!”

He caught the parchment to shake it in my face. “Where’s the real formula, Albus! I tried all your passwords, nothing!”

Oh. Ohhhh. He thinks it is like the map. Okay that makes sense, even though it doesn’t tell me why he went to the trouble to make the damn thing. “It’s just my curd recipe, Severus, I’ll thank you to give it back, it’s an heirloom.”

“We’re going to see Poppy.”

* * *

He walked me to Poppy's with a firm grip on my hand, of all things—as if I was really a child!—making me trot to keep up. I was seething by the time we reached the doors. The halls were filled with students doing nothing but dawdling and gaping, and I couldn’t make the fuss I so desperately wanted to.

Bedlam met us.

Severus smoothly tucked me in behind him when the noise struck, and had his wand at the ready, bodyguard extraordinaire. People were shouting, somewhere a bird was screeching loud enough to burst eardrums, and I could clearly hear Minerva McGonagall crying, “_Five points from Gryffindor!_”

I twisted out of his grip and side-by-side we stood in the doorway, boggling at the human sized _bright yellow chicken_ running loose in the middle of the large room. Overturned furniture were scattered everywhere, and Minerva, Poppy, Percy, and what looked like the twins, were surrounding it with their arms outstretched. For a dumb moment I thought this was where Severus had gotten the eggs from, and it took me way too long to realize it was not just human sized but an actual human... My chin dropped to the floor. A person had turned into a chicken—fucking hell—magic was amazing! The Canary Creams!

“Where’s the antidote, Mister Weasley!” Poppy called.

“It’s experimental,” one of the twin boys shouted back over the din the bird was making. “We haven’t managed to make it stop on time yet, but it will wear off, Madam Pomfrey, we swear!”

“Five points from Gryffindor!” Minerva hissed, and opposite her Percy blanched as if physically pained.

“We don’t know how she got it, Professor,” he protested. “We found her like this…” he jumped back when the chicken tried to peck at him, and squealed loudly.

“Lies!” Minerva shouted back. “_Ten points from Gryffindor!_ Irma, please, if you can calm down a moment, Poppy here will sort you,” she tried, but the bird only screeched, hopping and flapping her wings like a dervish, causing everyone to jump back yet again.

“Madam Pince?” I asked astonished, a light going up. Karma in the form of the twins—Percy had been serious! I couldn’t help myself and laughed.

The chicken’s head swiveled, her beady eyes picking me out. Well, canary, I suppose, but perhaps the twins weren’t studying to be Ornithologists. Chicken Pince cackled and rushed at me.

Adding my own yells to the noise, I skirted a circle around Severus to get away. Someone swore—it might have been me—and Severus shouted, “_Petrificus_ _Totalus_!”

My life was such that I expected to fall flat on my back in a full body bind. Instead, a big crash sounded behind me, accompanied by a myriad of yellow feathers filling the air around us. Severus plucked me up, out of the way, and her head fell where I had stood.

Silence.

Minerva picked a yellow feather from her tongue.

One of the twins snickered.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Minerva snapped, effectively killing his mirth. Stepping irately over the prone librarian she held out a small card to Snape. “I think you might be interested in this.”

‘_A small gift of thanks to a fellow hater of little snakes._’ I read together with Snape, still firmly in his grip.

“It’s not us.” A twin straightened up to protest. “Why, if it was us we would give her a proper box of chocolate, not a prank. It doesn’t make sense, sir.” He bit his lip nervously. “Not that we have anything against snakes. Unless of course it’s Quidditch, then we hate them, but not more than we hate the Ravenclaws or the Puffs, I promise…”

“Perhaps someone stole our creams thinking it was normal ones. Then we cannot be blamed, right?” said the other, and they squashed their shoulders together.

Behind them Percy stood white faced, eyes nearly popping out of his skull. Minerva started remonstrating with the brothers. Poppy pushed Snape aside so that she could levitate the librarian over to a bed, and his arm tightened around me as he moved away. I dared not look at him, but out of the corner of my eyes I could see his head swivel from her to Percy and myself and I could HEAR the cogs moving, I kid you not.

“Mister Weasley, a moment of your time, please,” Snape said, and motioned him to Poppy’s office. Once inside, he closed the door with a decisive snap and dropped me to my feet. I naturally made haste to the known safety of the eldest Weasley, and seeing Snape’s face, prepared for the worst.

“Let me get this straight,” Snape said down to me. “You took umbrage at being refused the library, and this was the result.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Excuse me if I do not believe in coincidences, Albus. So she refused to let you in, so what. It is not the end of the world, it doesn’t mean you have to blow it all up out of proportion! I do not like pranks!”

Enough. Seriously. Hot tears pricked my eyes. Honestly, I was tired of all these emotions. I let him have it. “I don’t care what you believe! I’m not talking to you anymore! You only shout at me and I am tired of it! I didn’t make her a chicken! It has nothing to do with me and I will never talk to you again if you’re going to keep shouting—see if I do!”

“A canary,” Percy corrected under his breath, and Snape turned his wrath on the older boy.

“Mister Weasley!”

“Sir…”

“Explain this mess!”

“Sir,” his voice wobbled and he swallowed loudly, throat clicking with nerves. “I do not know how she got the creams or who wrote the note, but it might be because she called Albus—”

“A little snake!” I interrupted, forgetting my vow. There was no way I was going to let him tell Snape the rest. “She didn’t let me in, and called me a little snake. Fine, I did it! She got what she deserved!”

Snape took a moment to assimilate all of this, and his expression turned from irritated to something much-much worse. “I’d thought better of you, Albus,” he said, his voice arctic. “Since when is it a bad thing to be called a snake? One quarter of the students in this school are Slytherins and there is no difference between them and any of the other houses.”

“Sir, if I may—” Percy tried and we both snapped at him.

“No you may not!” I shouted.

“What is it, Mister Weasley!” Severus barked.

I twisted to stop Percy. For some reason he had his wand out and was talking, but his words made no sense. It sounded like the static drone your mobile phone used to get when driving through a tunnel. Snape said something in turn, his deep voice reverberating like a buzzsaw, making me automatically clasp my hands over my ears. I turned back to him only to take a fearful step away from his livid expression, but he ignored me to slam out of the office. My ears popped.

“Sorry,” Percy said, sounding like himself again, but looking like death warmed over. He tucked his wand back into his sleeve. “You don’t need your dad angry at you for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“What was that! You cast a spell!”

“Sorry,” he repeated lamely. “I figured you only lied because you didn’t want to hear what she said again, so I did a Muffliato—ow!”

“Albus!” Snape barked from the door. “We don’t kick students!”

“Stop shouting at me!”

“Weasley, you may go wait outside.”

Percy ran, and I didn’t blame him one whit. Snape closed the door behind him, gentler than before. That was so much worse than a noisy, furious man, that I shivered involuntarily and took a step back.

“You are also shouting, Albus,” he said. “It’s not just me.”

“Only because you are, and you’re louder.”

“You’re right.” He paused and considered me. “You are running about so much, I forget that this must be stressful to you also… I apologise. What if we both try to tone it down?”

“Whatever.” What does he mean ‘also’. What stress could he possibly have. Was he an Insert? Did he fucking de-age?

He sent me a flat look.

“Fine!” I agreed. “Fine. Can we go now?”

“We are going to wait until they leave, then Poppy will examine you.”

I nearly swore at him, in fact I took a deep breath to do just that, but blew it out again when he raised his eyebrows at me. Fine. I am tired anyway. She won’t find anything, nothing was going to change in one day.

“I’m sorry she said those things to you, if it helps it is not because of anything you did, Irma and I have some history…” He pulled a sour face and blew out a harsh breath. “Anyway, it might be interesting to know that Poppy finds herself ‘unable’ to turn her back,” Severus said, “and Minerva agreed we should let the prank wear off on its own. The Weasley terrors say that can take anything from twenty-four-hours to a week.”

“You told them?” Oh God, I was going to cry again.

“Yes. Come along, let's get this done.”

Outside it was just Percy and the twins, Minerva nowhere in sight, and Poppy busy behind the curtains. Snape corralled the brothers.

“You two will present yourselves at Hagrid’s every afternoon for the rest of this week at class end, you will serve your detention under him,” he told the twins.

They looked quite happy with this. Knowing Hagrid, he would probably give them tea. A token punishment. Huh, who’d have thought Snape was a softy.

“And ten points each from Gryffindor.”

“That’s so unfair!” I shouted, forgetting our deal.

“Albus. I will not now, and have never condoned pranks. No matter what the reason. The line between that and bullying is this thin,” he held his thumb and forefinger a millimeter apart, “and in the history of all schools ever, students have never known how not to cross it.” He turned to the twins. “Dismissed!”

They scurried off and Snape stopped Percy. “Not so fast. I have no doubt that you have a big part in all this, Mister Weasley, and you a prefect.”

“Sir…”

“You will keep yourself available for babysitting duties whenever I require…"

I would have shouted, but I was too busy swallowing my tongue. Snape went on to berate Percy for casting a spell on me without my consent, detailing his dark future should such a thing dare to repeat itself, while internally I had the mother of all rants. Babysitting! I was not a child!

My mind must have glitched for I found myself on a bed with Poppy bending over me, a familiar tingle running up and down my spine.

“I’m fine, Poppy,” I told her.

“You blanked out there, Albus, let me just do a few tests.”

“Severus organised a babysitter for me, excuse me if I didn’t handle it with my usual aplomb.”

“Managing him well then, are you?” she teased with a small smile.

“It’s difficult with this size,” I admitted with a sigh. “Things aren’t working the same, and if he doesn’t drag me around, he insists on carrying me. Who listens to someone they can carry?”

“It will be fine dear, you’ll both get used to it.” She stopped casting and told me I was still a four-year-old, and not to tire myself out too much.

Xxx

They had a meeting about me in her office and I wasn’t invited. For sure I wasn’t going to ignore it, I hid outside the door, my back against the wall, straining to hear.

“Poppy he is acting more and more like a child!”

“It is to be expected, Severus. He has the physical body of one, hormones, development, the lot. Imagine an adult’s knowledge combined with a child’s impulses. Didn’t you listen to me when I gave you the list? He will be affected in ways we don’t know. After all, he is the first of his kind.”

“He’d better be the last.” Severus muttered and moved deeper into the room, pacing, I presumed. I had to strain to hear him now. I moved closer to the door and wished for the Extendable Ears, mentally adding that to my list. In what book did they use it? Have they invented it yet? “…the potion now, before it is too late.” What? What did I miss! I squashed my ear against the door.

“His handwriting is the same, but look here, you can see it turning childish already.” Paper rustled, and I peeked through the keyhole to see my ‘I am Albus’ note waved at Poppy.

“That could just be because he has not the muscle dexterity yet to hold a quill. It doesn’t indicate anything, Severus. We should start him on writing exercises at some point, just like you would do any young preschooler.

What! That will be the day!

“I would rather finish the antidote,” Snape returned sour.

“Well you still have time.”

“I would if he gave the bloody formula to me! How can I even begin to figure it out with nothing to go on! How does he expect me to help him!”

“He did not give it? Hmm. Albus usually has something up his sleeve, perhaps you should wait for him to give it out of his own accord.”

“The only thing he has up his sleeve is candy.” He yanked the door open causing me to tumble in against his legs. “_Is that not so, Albus._”

“No.” I pushed myself off him. “I also have my arms.”


	8. Swiper no swiping.

Asking Snape to stop treating me like a child was useless, and _telling_ him did not work either. On his side he spent some time ranting at me about the formula, until I hid myself under the comforter and pretended he did not exist. Oh, wishmagic doesn’t work, in case you wanted to know. Bloody fanon. Snape did disappear, but more the storming off and slamming of doors type and I had the whole evening and most of the next day to myself to plan.

Here goes. I don’t want to be an old man. I will take growing up instead, and don’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same. There’s still the issue of should I stay ‘Dumbledore’, expose my new age to the wizarding world and take over his responsibilities, or should I chuck the whole lot for the birds and go do my own thing. It is a big question and one I put aside for later, after I had been in this world longer than three days.

What I did need to sort was Voldemort. I discarded my old idea to let Harry take care of it, he was still a kid and I an adult, I needed to solve it without him and fast. I didn’t want to spend years on it like they did. Easy would be to tell both Snape and Minerva, right? There’ll be a bit of Albus-what-have-you-done and after they would get right on to the business of catching Quirrell and his… thing.

Only I don’t know this Snape very well yet, and he doesn’t seem exactly the same as JKR’s Snape but that might not necessarily mean he was better. He’s not interested in playing games with Harry for one, which was a big positive in my mind, but I will put him in the position of having to fight his former master, and what if Evil Incarnate still had a hold over him? I had no clue if Minerva would be safe against Quirrell either, I only read up to book four, certainly she must be a talented witch but can she fight? Will I be the first Harry Potter Insert that gets Minerva killed? My book will be burned!

It needed much more thought and thankfully I still had time. First threat against Harry was in the Quidditch game, yes?

So I had a plan for that.

It was Thursday, today, and according to the student roster tacked on Snape’s office wall, Flying Lessons for Gryffindors and Slytherins would start at exactly three thirty this afternoon. Plan, ‘Stop Harry Potter from becoming a seeker’, began early in the morning while everyone was still asleep.

(Why would I want to spoil his position on the team, you might ask if you were feeling nosy about my doings, and I’ll tell you. Being the youngest seeker, and gaining the reputation of getting special treatment had done him no favours. Let him join the team in his second year like all the rest and let him enjoy his friendship with Ron without this cloud hanging over their bro-happiness. No I am not being dramatic, go away.)

I slipped out of Snape’s dark rooms on socked feet, carrying my boots against my chest. On the walls the portraits were sleeping, and the hall was dimly lit, giving off a spooky vibe that had my neck hair standing on end. It was even odds which I was more scared of, the ghosts, or a fire breathing Snape short on my heels. Once I turned the corner I ran.

I made it to my office unhindered, more portraits sleeping, their snoring ranging from soft to buzzsaw. Closing the door as quiet as a mouse, I tiptoed past them with bated breath to my bedroom. And the closet.

The cloak was amazing. Silvery, featherlight material that spilled through my fingers like cool water. I threw it around my shoulders, and did giggle when just my head floated, Harry Potter style. Slipping the hood over my head I disappeared from the mirror and the world turned a shade paler.

Perfect. If Ignotus Peverell could use the cloak to hide from death then certainly I would be safe from Severus Snape. Ugh. Why would I remember that and not where all the Horcruxes was kept. I wracked my head over them when I made my To-do list last night and now as I crept out of the office, I counted them yet again with my steps. The ring, the book, the snake—please don’t be fanon—the diadem and the cup. Potter. Am I missing one or more? Fuck.

I returned for my boots which stood lonely in the middle of my bedroom and carried them out, not yet ready to wake anyone up with the pitter-patter of my stupidly tiny feet.

The cloak was not that amazing. It flowed behind me like the train of a Queen’s wedding dress, I hadn’t considered the fact that it had held all three of them, and it didn’t seem to want to adjust to my size either.

I ended up fixing it in an empty classroom, and by the time I figured out how to twist it a couple of times around me like a bedsheet, I was sweating, exhausted, ready for a nap and also hungry enough to eat my hand with the fork. Let me tell you it is bloody difficult for mummies to extract anything from pockets, but I couldn’t trust that Severus wasn’t already looking for me and I persevered until I had one ham sandwich to munch on without ever moving from the cloak. It tasted as fresh as when I had put them there two days before. Magic!

The flaw in my plan to find Gryffindor tower was the students were coming OUT of it and not going IN. It took me a very long time to track the flow and by the time I stood in front of the Fat Lady there was no more students about. _Balderdash_. I knew the password but did I want to spend my time searching through dormitories and trunks. How many students were there anyway. Harry’s year looked to be ten to a house and the ones above maybe less even. That still left me—discounting that maybe half was girls—around math amount of trunks to search? And maybe the twins were carrying it around with them, I certainly would.

Which meant I had to go all the way down again and see if they were still in the Dining hall. Fuck me. This was going to be one hell of a slog.

They were not in the hall. Severus Snape was though, looking like a thundercloud but what else was new. For some reason he was talking to Percy, towering over the teen and frowning so fiercely that I felt deeply sorry for the kid but I wasn’t going to stay around to hear what he had done, I had my own things to worry about. I was going to get that damn map today if it killed me.

I found the first years in Transfiguration, Minerva’s voice ringing clear through the room as she explained what she expected from them. Then there was the squeal of a pig and children’s laughter rang through the open door. I couldn’t help myself and peeked, watching in awe as she turned a very pink pig back into a desk, and slipped into the room to watch the lesson from the side.

Which was complicated as fuck. I wasn’t the only one thinking that, the kids were taking hurried notes, cross-eyed and struggling to keep up. On the large blackboard her chalk was marching out a steady stream of transfiguration laws while she herself was wandering through the room, talking a mile a minute. The poor kid nearest me had tears in her eyes.

I felt a bit like crying too. How was I going to learn all of this to fake Dumbledore’s level of competence? All I knew so far was that quills were Muggle-safe, looked like a dropped feather to all but Witches, Wizards and Squibs, and anything written by a charmed quill would just look like gibberish to non-magicals. Oh and all magical books? Handwritten with quills, no Muggle will ever be able to read it. And the teeth thing.

I found them in an empty classroom, bent over a cauldron. They hadn’t even closed the door on themselves but that wasn’t surprising anymore. Through the morning I had found students everywhere except where they should be, practicing spells and playing games, giggling around corners; they were the third I’ve found bent over cauldrons—no one seemed to care what anyone else were up to, or... maybe they were expected to practice what they’ve learned and did it just where they pleased? Okay, that made more sense. There’s practical exams too, how else would they pass them, not just from class activities, right? JKR was very weak on what the students learned and most I remember was library this and library that.

“_George_,” a thin whisper. “_Why do we have the Headmaster standing right behind us?_”

Oh holy fuck, my stomach went right through the floor in a nauseating tumble and I couldn’t move to check if the cloak had opened or fallen or... how did they know I was Dumbledore!

“I don’t know, Fred. It’s not as if we were making anything illegal… just a little—” they turned as one, nearly hugging each other, and their blank faces when they saw nothing made me move.

The map. That’s how. For the first time since I came here my mind was suddenly clear. I knew everything that I needed to. While the Weasley twins were gaping at what seemed to be nothing but air, I slipped around them and pinched the map where it lay open next to their cauldron, tucking it safely into the cloak. I did not want to run, for the hall outside was empty of children that would mask my steps, so I slid in under the desk—for once celebrating my short stature—and out the other side where I stood motionless.

“—just a little prank… George? Why would the Headmaster be invisible?”

They turned back to the table and their faces when they saw the empty spot was a treat. Mirroring each other they went from shock right through to horror in two seconds. One of them tried to Accio the map but it didn’t even move from where I clutched it tight against my body while the other was on his knees checking to see if it had fallen in under the desk.

“Who can we tell?” George wailed. (I knew it was George for Fred was embracing him, patting his shoulders saying ‘There, there, George. There, there.’) “Dumbledore stole our map!”

“I’m sure he has good need of it”—insert lots of soothing pats—“maybe he will give it back when he is done, do you think?”

“I think our potion will blow us up if we don’t add the bearded tooth, brother,” George said, looking over Fred’s shoulder to where the potion was currently forming an alarming green dome that threatened to spill over the top.

They split, and what followed was a flurry of movement as they chopped and stirred ingredients at a manic pace until finally the dome sagged back down into the cauldron. They, in turn, sagged against each other with sighs of relief.

“I’m going to miss the map,” George lamented. “Two days was way too short. Do you think Filch has more?”

I sidled around them and sneaked out as quiet as you please, totally not interested in seeing teeth with beards. Really not. I hadn’t brushed mine this morning for I would have had to go through Snape’s bedroom to get to the bathroom—yeah no.

* * *

At some point I will stop being amazed by this magical world, but it wasn’t today.

I sat in an empty classroom—I closed the door, pushed a desk against it, went to the far end and sat with my back against the wall, under another desk, the cloak a tent around me—and pored over the map. It was marvelous. Incredible. Magic.

Little black shoeprints marched everywhere. On impulse I pinched it open like you would a touchscreen—oh how I miss my ipad—and it zoomed in until each pair of footsteps became accompanied by a name, and I could see Evelyn Bean enter the girls bathroom. I swiped her away and pinched and twisted until I had a 3D model of the castle. Curiosity made me search for Salazar’s little hideaway but there I was to be disappointed. No matter. I’ve just found the Potions Class. Someone named Michael Carrol was sitting at the desk and I knew none of the nine other students either. Snape was nowhere to be found. My heart suddenly thumping in my chest I zoomed out until I found Albus Dumbledore against the wall and, oh thank god, no one around me. I spent some time calming down and wondering what use the cloak was if I still showed up on a map.

Quirrell was just Quirrell, he did not have a ‘Voldemort’ attached in a weird hyphenated combo. No Pettigrew anywhere, also no Scabbers. Which was just as well, I suppose. The map would be awfully cluttered if all the pets showed up, and what then about the normal animals, rats who had no name, or did they call each other Squeak1 and Squeak2 until infinity? That might be interesting to know.

A few names kept popping up everywhere I twisted the map, crisscrossing all the halls up and down, Percy being one of them I figured the rest was Prefects too. They never went to class which was curious, I thought they would be doing their patrolling in between classes and surely the new firsties couldn’t be getting lost still? They were definitely searching for someone. I watched them going in and out of classrooms until I got bored. Whoever they were looking for must be hiding well.

Lunch was a ham sandwich outside near the castle wall, close to where a lot of brooms were stacked. I would have liked to filch something else from a table for I was getting quite bored of the taste, but I figured a disembodied hand would not go unnoticed and certainly would raise eyebrows. I followed it up with a lollipop and a nap.

I woke up grumpy and thirsty with Madam Hooch shouting instructions to a group of students standing next to rows of brooms. Oh hell. I haven’t even made a plan yet. I could see Draco’s white hair standing out like a sore thumb so it’s not as if I had any more time. I was going to have to wing it. And when I was done I was going to find some juice in this bloody god awful place if it was the last thing I did!

The moment Hooch instructed them to sit on the brooms things went downhill fast. Neville Longbottom, a truly chubby boy, went up and up and came down with a crash and a bounce and a crack. Everyone winced as one, and taking its chance the broom made fast tracks for the forest, escape clearly on it’s bristly mind. Ask me, I know a runner when I see one.

“Did you see his face the fat lump of lard?” Draco Malfoy laughed. “Who wants to bet the next to fall is Potter?” The group around him snorted and thumped each other in their merriment.

I spied the Remembrall first but was hindered by the little crowd jostling around it, the only one standing still a girl with bushy hair—oh. Hermione Granger. She spotted the small ball lying lost on the grass at the same time and was just about to pick it up when Malfoy grabbed it.

“Oh look what we have here,” Malfoy chortled. “The idiot dropped his precious little memory ball, where shall we hide it, lads!” Honestly the boy needed a sound smack.

“Give it to me, Malfoy!” Harry snapped and everyone fell silent.

Oh god I can’t let him go in the air! I had to move!

Clutching my cloak around me, praying there’s no loose flaps anyone could stand on, I darted in between the kids while the two argued. And just as Malfoy pulled his hand back to throw the thing, I tripped. I fell forward into his back, bumping him hard, and instead of swinging freely his fist connected with The Boy Who Lived’s eye. A dead center shot.

The brawl erupted in seconds, someone stepped on my hand when I scurried away and I think I tripped another, causing an even greater mess. Holy hell, everyone took part, even the girls who scratched and screeched loud enough to burst eardrums. I think I saw Hermoine pull Ron’s hair, she must have mistaken him for a Slytherin in all the mess, and then I was back at the wall, Minerva shouting at them through an open window.

Minerva moved herself up to the top of my ‘Most Scariest Witches Alive’ list—that I had just started—by ranting and raving at the group until they were a sniveling, teary heap. Detentions were handed out like candy, points were taken away and three of them were sent to Madam Pomfrey, their newly sprouted tentacles dragging in their wake. When she was done she made them all hug. No, I am joking, she did not. She sent them scurrying to their dinners, tails between their legs.

“Seamus! Is that a tail?” She called after the Gryffindor boy. “_Yes, I am talking to you, Mr. Finnigan!_ Don’t try to hide it, off to the infirmary with you! And don’t think I will not check with Madam Pomfrey to see that you went!”

She didn't move to follow them, but stood on the spot, taking deep calming breaths before turning a slow circle, peering at the distant forest. She looked to be searching for something, checking if she had missed one of them? She stood a very long time, did something with her wand that made it spin on her palm, and walked off to peer around the corner before sighing deeply and turning back to the castle, the corners of her mouth turned down. My deed for the day done I could probably show myself and ask her what she was looking for, perhaps even help, but she might just be still irritated from the brawl which I was starting to feel a bit guilty about. Better not to take the chance.

* * *

Going back to Snape’s rooms went slow. I tried the kitchens first, easy to find now that I had a map, but the portrait with the pear was set high, out of my reach. I spent some time in the Great Hall, drooling after food that never seemed within reach of my too short arms. Returning to the Dungeons well past dark, I dejectedly munched on the last sandwich while en route.

Classes were long since out and there were students everywhere up and down the halls. Quite a few playing some game of hide and seek. I kept having to turn around and find different halls in order not to be trampled by large searching groups, and gave up on the secret tunnels when the first four I tried held prefects. Not much of a secret these tunnels, huh?

The map was very useful in avoiding most of them, but I felt quite done with my little adventure by the time I reached Snape’s rooms. I stashed the map and cloak behind an armor outside the rooms and spoke the password. _Fluxweed_.

“_Where were you,_” Snape hissed, pulling me through the portrait. “We’ve been searching everywhere! Do you know the _time_?”

Oh please. King of exaggeration. He might have stalked a bit up and down in a fret just now, but the map had shown he never moved from the living room for the last hour and I had checked often enough to know that he hadn’t been in the castle the whole day!

“Searching everywhere in your rooms?” I asked, feeling snippy.

“Minerva and the Prefects are searching the school, Hagrid is outside scouring the Forbidden Forest, and I’ve been ou—stuck here waiting in case you showed up.”

He shook his wand out his sleeve and waved it in an intricate movement that managed to look delicate and furious at the same time. A silvery mist appeared at the tip, coalescing into a doe. His patronus! The beautiful doe gave me a choleric look that equaled its maker’s and galloped off through the wall. Snape made a second one that took off in the opposite direction and I realized he had just sent the wizarding equivalent of voice mail to the searchers. He turned his attention back to me, looking ready to murder.

“Where were you, Albus!”

It was his shouting that did it, I thought we had done with it. Hackles raised, I snapped back. “Out, Severus. Last I checked I did not report to you.”

“You don’t report to m—” He sputtered and threw his arms in the air, stalked away and whirled around when he found his voice. “Wandering about all day, not one person knew where you were, you’ve had us worried sick! Did it even cross your bloody infantile little mind that we might think you had been abducted? Had fallen somewhere and were unable to call for help? Your potion could still have consequences that we don’t know of, Albus!” He took a deep breath and bent his head, clutching at his forehead, fingers white. All very theatrical, if you asked me. Expertly done to make me feel guilty… He snapped his hand down to glare at me. “We even had Sybill search in her damn Crystal ball! Det—You’re grounded!”

“What!” Any, and I mean ANY guilt I felt, dissipated like it never existed.

“You heard me,” he hissed. “You’ll spend the rest of this week and the next in this rooms, let’s see you do this again.”

“Have you lost your mind? On whose authority! You’re not my parent—I will tell Minerva!”

“Oh?” He threw himself into his armchair and bared his teeth in a sneer. “Go ahead. _I dare you._”

* * *

I did not have to wait long, for she came while I was still protesting volubly to a stony faced, deathly silent Snape, railing at his insolence. Did he forget I was his headmaster?!

Minerva, when she heard had no problem with it. Unlike her earlier fuss with the students she did not shout or rave at me. She sank down on the couch, looking pale and tired, and her eyes glittering dangerously, she told me: “You may add to that no pudding. Go to your bedroom.”

“This is my bedroom.” I clutched my arms tight around my chest. Why did they insist on treating me like a child! “This is my bedroom and you’re sitting on my bed.”

This turned her attention from me. “Really Severus?”

“I told you when you gave him to me, I have only one bedroom.”

“_Enough_.” Rising like the Angel of Death, she stalked off to his second office, and Severus rushed to follow.

“This is my _private_—”

“You don’t need two. Kindly remove your papers before I do it for you.”

Their voices muted as they moved off and I followed to peek around the corner, their squabble pulling me like a magnet. It was magnificent. Minerva went through the room like a dervish, snapping about irresponsible men, Severus pulled in her wake. She was waving her wand about, transforming his office furniture into a bedroom with a clanging and banging that could wake the dead; he was catching scrolls and books as they flew through the air, sending them in a stream over my head to his outer office. Magic!

Ten minutes later had them both standing breathless in the middle of a bedroom. The desk was transformed into a low child sized bed, bedding and all. The empty racks—that had me feeling guilty every time I passed—were now a bright blue closet, and the office chair was turned into an adult sized rocking chair. She had put effort into decorating the bedding all in blues with colourful little boats and red buoys, bobbing—actually bobbing!—about on an undulating sea, and even transfigured a thick rug. It was not a private bedroom, Severus would still have to pass in and out on the way to his own or the bathroom, but it was definitely better than a couch.

“There.” Minerva breathed in satisfaction. She looked like a tornado had hit her, her usual tidy coiffure standing on end, making her look like a mad scientist who had just jammed something they shouldn’t have into a socket. She calmly set about fixing it, smoothing the wayward strands down before delicately dabbing at her brow with a lace handkerchief. “You may fetch his clothes.”

Severus did not move.

I was sent to brush my teeth—by Minerva playing mom—while they had a row about my wardrobe, or rather the absence of it. They were still at it when I returned to ask how I was supposed to sleep with them fighting.

At this, Minerva turned to take a good look at me. You could literally see the light going on as the witch suddenly realised with full clarity that the absence of a wardrobe also meant I’ve been four days in the same robes. “… and underwear, Severus!” She shouted apropos of nothing I could discern.

She gave Severus no choice but to bring out some of his own clothes for her to transfigure into a long nightdress and boxer shorts for me. I loved the fact that they still put boys into nightdresses, it was such a silly, wizardy, victorian thing. She even added a frill.

Back to the bathroom to change, then out again for inspection. Please please please move away from my bed…

Minerva speared me with a critical eye and… pursed her lips. “Albus. When last have you had a wash?”

Fuck.

“No.” Severus growled at her. “Enough. He will wash in the morning.” He turned to me and flung his arm out, to point a long bony finger at what used to be his desk. “Get into bed!”

* * *


	9. Safety first.

“I’m not going to,” I told Snape early morning.

After yesterday, he had no patience with me. It showed in his lips that had not stopped curling since we woke, but I could be stubborn too. He might have cornered me in the bathroom, the tub already filled to the brim with steaming water, but there was no way I was going to set foot in it. I've done a good job so far avoiding looking at this body and was not planning on changing that any time soon.

I’ve decided I can rot, it will be fine, I read something somewhere about a man that hadn’t washed in ten years, that should just about give me enough time, and when next I saw Percy I will ask him exactly what spells he could do. Rumour had it JKR used to say that wizardkind vanished their poop where they stood or something (The toilet paper rolls stacked on the shelf to our left proved her wrong), so it stood to reason there was some magical way to bath too.

“Why are you being such a child?" Snape's exasperated voice broke through my thoughts. "I’m not going to stand here and watch you do it, just get into the tub and wash yourself…” he trailed off, considering me with sharp eyes. “This has something to do with you standing in front of the mirror that night, right?”

“No!”

“Dad.”

“...”

“No, Dad. Dad, Daddy or Father. Choose one and start to use it, but you will not just say ‘no’ to me while you are this size, it sounds horribly rude coming from a toddler's mouth. Next we'll have the whole school following you.” He gave me a flat, angry look. “_Or tell me the formula and let us be done with this farce_.”

I tucked my hands into my armpits. “My deepest apologies, Severus, but I will not do either.”

I had no time to scream. The bloody man took me, clothes and all, and dumped me into the tub. It’s fair to tell you I screamed then, though, and loud enough to raise the roof. Somewhere in the background, Snape swore viciously and the next moment the tub filled with bubbles up to my nose.

“Happy now? You can’t see a thing! _Evanesco_!”

My clothes vanished. It was the oddest feeling, Minerva's transfigured nightdress, shorts, socks, all gone in an instant. I grabbed for them but only felt the slick skin that I had avoided for days now, and yelled again, splashing water to the floor.

“We don’t have time for this, Albus!” A cloth fell into the foam in front of my face and his finger swept out to point at a set of crystal decanters on the far rim. No plastic pollution in wizarding world… “Soap. Shampoo. You have five minutes to get going or I will come and bath you myself—the choice is yours!”

“You said you would stop yelling at me!”

“Stop being such a baby!” he shouted back and slammed out of the bathroom.

I hated him. I hated him so hard that for a moment I completely blanked on the thought.

The steam fogged up my glasses. The water was too hot, and there was no escape, it reached well up to my chin. I felt like I was being boiled alive. His threat had me grit my teeth against the heat and the impending tears to grab the nearest decanter. Of course it was bloody heavy crystal that slipped through my pudgy fingers, what else could I expect, this was my life now. Not to do things just half, the corner hit my chest as it plunged into the bubble topped water and I sucked in a sob. Crying now—I’m sorry, that damn thing had hurt—I had to actually swim for it, dipping down past bubbles that burst against my glasses, submerging half my face into the hot water to reach, tiny bubbles foaming up my nose.

It smelled like lemons.

I gagged.

Leaving the decanter to God to sort I surged up and away from the olfactory attack, water sloshing everywhere. There was no more thought about this being a child’s body that I did not want to see, there was only a cauldron tipping over my head and I could taste the curd.

As a kid my siblings and I loved bubble baths, not just for the fun of making Santa beards and cone topped heads, but the added bonus was its slippery goodness that turned the bath into a slide.

There was nothing fun about slipping feet and plunging unsuspecting into an overfilled tub, steamy water flooding your nose in a burn that seared the lining and filled the sinuses, sloshing over your head, into your ears and eyes and mouth. I know I screamed. I know I kicked and grabbed for the sides, submerging once, twice, I don’t know how many times, swallowing and gagging before hands grabbed me out of the cauldron. Air hit my raw throat in a burst of yet more pain and I coughed and cried and flailed blindly at the arms that held me too tight.

* * *

I woke up in the infirmary, tucked into a feathersoft bed. Every part of my body ached. My head throbbed, my chest hurt, my nose—even breathing was a pain. Close by Minerva was berating a white faced Snape, their features too blurry to make out, but there was no mistaking her voice, low and furious. I could hear snippets, child endangerment, irresponsible, _I should never have given him to you_… Through it all he did not offer one word to defend himself.

“Minerva,” I croaked. “It was not his fault.”

I must be going mad.

“Albus! I will call Poppy!”

The two women fussed over me, spells were cast and a grassy tasting potion removed the aches and pains as if it never were. All the while Snape stood behind them, mutely rooted to his spot and visibly ignored by both women. I could not let them fight over me. I needed them to be a united front against what was to come. That was why, when Minerva asked what I meant with it not being Severus’s fault, I lied through my teeth, knowing full well it would come to bite me in the ass probably sooner rather than later.

I struggled up. “Severus saved me, he is not to blame for any of it. I told him I’ve been taking baths my whole life and certainly did not need anyone’s help.” That sounded like something their Albus might say, no? “My apologies for the fuss, Minerva, I might have overestimated my abilities somewhat.”

“Somewhat? _Albus_!”

Her scolding was epic. I think Snape took notes. Poppy moved off quite disappointed in me and left her to it.

I bore it. I certainly wanted to cry when she took my whole personality apart, trying to figure out why I was unable to act sensibly and ask for help, bringing up examples from Dumbledore’s life that I had no clue of but managed to feel guilty about anyway. There was some invective about the ‘Great Albus’ that always knew better, that was probably just her blowing off steam, but even so pierced my little baby heart. I was pinching my leg under the blanket not to burst into a sobbing mess and met Severus’s impassive eyes over her shoulder. I hated him. I bore it because I was not going to let him see me fall apart from a mere scolding.

When I couldn’t manage anymore I interrupted her, pretending my voice did not waver. “I apologise, Minerva. I will do my best to be more responsible from now on.”

“I should certainly hope so, Albus!”

“Yes, quite. Have we missed breakfast then? Do we not have children to teach today?”

* * *

“That woman…” I took a steadying breath when she had gone. She’s a menace…

“Quite,” Snape said, echoing my earlier words. “Why did you take the blame, it was more my fault than yours.”

He made to put my glasses on my face, but I snatched it off him and smacked his hands away. “Don’t touch me.”

He took a step back and took stock of me. “Albus, I would like to apo—”

“In future you will not touch me without my permission, you will not pick me up or manhandle me to do anything I don’t want to. Don’t forget yourself, Severus Snape. I am still your Headmaster.”

He paused. Straightened his back and gave me a small nod, his face unreadable. “You will still need to call me Dad.”

“I will do so when I need to. Where is my clothes.”

* * *

Poppy tried to keep me in bed but Snape stood by me when I said no. With all the fuss we still had enough time to go down for breakfast before classes started. Despite the pain relieving potion I felt exhausted, and the walk tired me even more, but where yesterday Snape might have picked me up he now just slowed his steps. I picked at breakfast, finding it difficult to swallow the soft porridge and was glad enough to go back to our rooms when Snape declared us finished.

Friday. The Gryffindor and Slytherin first years had double potions in the morning that started at nine. I fully intended to go to my bed and sleep the day away, leaving him to it, but Snape had other ideas.

“No. You'll sit in the classroom where I can keep an eye on you. I’ve had enough of your adventures to last me the year.”

“What happened to not telling me what to do? How quickly you forget nearly drowning me—if I hadn’t taken the blame, Minerva would still be shouting at you, Severus.”

“I did not ask you to lie to Minerva. _Enough_. I made a mistake, and one that will not be repeated. Don’t equate that with you deliberately hiding away a whole day, doing god knows what—knowing full well we would be searching and worried out of our minds. You’re still grounded, Albus and I don’t trust you not to disappear—”

Now was not the time to tell him that the thought of them searching hadn’t crossed my mind whatnot them worrying. “That’s idiotic,” I hissed instead, balling my tiny fists. “I won’t stand for it.”

“You’re still grounded and if you have any complaints about it, you may take it up with Minerva.”

“...”

Minerva would definitely not be open to hearing anything from me right now. I was going to rue taking the blame faster than I had thought. We were having a standoff. Outside the voices of students gathering sounded and inside he was pointing me to his desk and chair.

“You’re not very nice,” I said, and it sounded much more childish than it did in my head.

“If I may, Albus. When had I ever pretended to be nice? Nice wizards don’t get anywhere in life.”

“If you say so.”

“Nice gets stepped on. Let’s go. _Sit_.”

I sat. Seems he had no need to manhandle me anyway, he just needed to play the Minerva card. I clambered onto his chair, ignoring his triumphant smirk.

Only when I was fully seated did he turn to open the classroom door and the firsties trooped in all wide eyed and hesitant. I figured the rumour mill had been at work there, possibly with some bat analogies. They didn’t know where to look, at Snape, me or the open door to his stockroom where a myriad of eyes were twisting about in their brine like schools of fish, peeking right back at them.

I was just tall enough that if I stretched I could cross my arms on the desk and set my chin on them. From that vantage point I joined the iconic first class. Fine, it seemed I was going to have a potions lesson. The dream of every Harry Potter fan, ever.

Snape started the lesson by taking roll call, giving me a good opportunity to learn some faces. They all looked so young! He didn’t stop on Harry’s name but moved over fluidly to the next, and the kid’s tense shoulders sagged visibly. At the desk I blew a sigh of relief myself. Maybe this might not be so bad.

He started his monologue:“You are here to learn the subtle science of…”— I sat up perking my ears in excitement. This was it! His soft voice enthralled his listeners, and the kids were staring mesmerised as he stalked past their desks— “There will be no foolish wand waving… _bewitch_ the mind… _delicate_ power…” _It was beautiful. _Snape turned in a swirl of robes for the finale. “... _even stopper death._”

I clapped.

Holy fuckaroly for once JKR had nailed it—word for word—and the speech was EVERYTHING she had promised. Oh hey, newsflash, baby lips produced just spit when you tried to whistle.

Snape turned around in slow motion, and when the kids started clapping with me, I wished for a camera. Oh how I miss the internet. If I could just have a picture of his face I could make a meme… Evade! I slithered off the chair and in under the desk.

“Enough,” he barked at the students. “We are not in a theatre, stop this noise and open your textbooks”—he reached down to pluck me out of my hiding spot and dumped me back onto the chair, seems not touching me had gone right out of the window, it hadn’t even been an hour—“_on page twelve._ You will read the safety rules at the beginning of each lesson until you have memorised it. You have five minutes before I test you, I suggest you hurry up!”

He said all this without sparing them a glance. That was new. He should be shouting questions at Harry now, not standing with his back to the class, glaring at me.

“What. Was. That.”

Oh God, I was going to laugh in his face. “I’m sorry, S-Daddy, but it was just so beautiful!”

More glaring effectively silenced my mirth.

“I’ll just sit quietly, shall I?”

“Do.”

* * *

He peppered them with questions about safety precautions, where to find Bezoar—besides the stomach of a goat, also on his desk and in their individual kits. They had a double period and it seemed he intended to take up the whole of the first just with that. The students were sitting to attention, furiously scribbling everything down, but I had nothing to do and soon found myself yawning.

Another thing I learned that JKR had gotten right, was Hermione. The girl found a reason to raise her hand every two minutes until Snape got tired of saying, “Yes Miss Granger?” and changed it to: “That had better not be your hand I am seeing, Miss Granger.”

“Sorry, sir!” she said, not sounding apologetic at all, “but your son is going to fall from the chair.”

A hand steadied me before that could come to pass. “Albus can you walk to bed or will you allow me to pick you up.”

Oh now he asks. I raised my arms, too sleepy to do much more than that and he picked me effortlessly up against his chest. For a thin man he certainly wasn’t weak, perhaps from hauling cauldrons about… I snuggled in and hoped I would drool on him, beautiful speech or not, he was not yet back in my favour, no.

“I’ll be away for two minutes,” Snape said above me. I must be dreaming, for his next words were, “Put your hands on your heads and don’t touch anything while I am gone.”

Sluggish, I tried to raise my hands but he pushed them down. “Not you, Albus. The dunderheads that we call first years…”

* * *


	10. An outing we will go.

“I don’t have to go anywhere, I'm grounded.” I pulled the comforter back over my head and did my best to ignore Snape.

It was Saturday morning and way too early for his nonsense. I’ve had enough time to build up some animosity again the previous evening, when he not only enforced another bath, but also insisted that I go to sleep at seven. Apparently Headmasters that were not grounded could stay up until eight unless they want to give the formula. Minerva, who pulled a treacle tart away from me at dinner, was also not in my good books. I’ve never had treacle tarts before, and they counted as a sweet, not a pudding! I didn’t say anything to her though, for that was one scary woman. Snape, unfortunately for him, was not in the same league and got the full brunt of my ire.

“Unground me, and I will go shopping with you,” I told him, half muffled by the blanket.

“We can stop for ice cream on the way back, I won’t tell Minerva.”

This had me incensed. I threw the comforter off and sat up. “First of all, Severus, ice cream does not count as pudding, and no one said anything about me not being allowed sweets! Second of all, I thought you had finished with this nonsense already! You know I hate ice cream, so stop testing me!”

“I forgot,” he said unrepentant, looking down his large nose at me.

“You did not!”

This was something I figured out after the second day already. An Insert replaced someone they had a strong affinity with. That meant more than their personality were similar, and I could be myself without fear. After all, very few books ended with the characters calling out the impostor. It would have been nice to have Dumbledore’s memories along with the rest, but my life was not to be so easy. It was also too strange to think that I had been a Dumbledore type and I tried my very best to ignore that part of it, believe me.

Where I differed from Severus’s Albus was the fact that I was now a child, which, according to Poppy, meant simpler. (Which was idiotic and not true!)

“You had not forgotten,” I continued to argue. “I don’t appreciate being tested every time I turn around. Tastes change! What if today I decided to try ice cream, you’ll throw me in the lake? Go away!” I threw myself down in a fuss and pulled the comforter back over my head.

“We still have to shop for clothes, Albus. If we do not, Minerva will most certainly want to know why. Shall I just direct her enquiries to yourself then?”

I wonder if that woman knew we were threatening each other with her left and right.

I played the diversion card. “Go buy clothes, Severus,” I groused from under my covers. “I am not stopping you, you don’t need me there, get a size midget and choose whatever colour you like.”

“If you need me, I’ll be at the Floo. Calling Minerva.”

I ripped the cover off and sprang up again to glare at him. He had not moved. “You know she will be annoyed with you too for not being able to handle this yourself!”

“Not as much as she would be with you, and the end result would be you and I going shopping. We can always skip her fuss and just go.”

“No.”

“Oh for—why not?!”

Because I am angry at you and not feeling in the mood to do anything you say… That was too childish and will have him lording it over me again so I grabbed for the first excuse I could think of. “There’s going to be people there!”

“You’re good with people!”

“Not like this! What if they realised I’m me!”

“Just act your age and pretend you don’t know them; believe me the thought would never enter their minds,” he said, sounding dry as dust.

“Funny, Severus. You should go apply for work in a circus.”

“I’m calling Minerva.”

This time he did move (walking at a strange crawl-pace), and I watched him do so through the open door, letting him get all the way to the Floo before I caved. “Fine! I’ll go, but you won’t like it!”

“I don’t like a lot of things, but I manage anyway.”

“What a sorry life you lead then.”

* * *

I didn’t know _how_ we were going to travel to the shops. Apparate? Floo? Bus? Not to give myself away, I stomped and scowled all the way to breakfast and from there dragged behind him up to my office. A happy chorus of ‘Hello, little Albus’ greeted me from the walls. I ignored the lot of them.

Snape stopped in front of the large fireplace. “You know I will have to carry you through, Albus, are you ready?”

I scowled. I knew nothing of the sort. “Whatever.”

He picked me up with a long suffering sigh. “Behave out there and don’t forget that you are a child now,” he said and threw a pinch of glittery powder into the fire, which roared into high emerald green flames. “Close your mouth,” he told me, tightened his hold around my middle and stepped into it. _“Diagon Alley.”_

Holy m—he should have told me close my eyes also, for the world spun a dizzying succession of fireplaces and rooms around us in a hot swirl that did my head in. When he finally stepped out onto a road, I was clutching his robe in a death grip, trying not to sick up. Snape looked as put together as always, not a hair out of place. Huh, he had washed his hair. Gone was the perpetual oily sheen that the potion fumes gifted to him and all the seventh year students, and it smelled like lavender. I had rid our rooms of all things citrus in a frenzy of hate—“…what?”

“I’m telling you to remember to call me Dad. Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m fine!” I kicked his hip. “Let me down!”

He dropped me unceremoniously to my feet.

Riiight. You may call me stupid now and get it over with. For some reason, when Snape had said ‘let’s go shop’ I had thought the mall. No matter the clues, both of us in robes—and heck even the name, _Diagon Alley shouted into the Floo_—it had not occurred to me that we were going to... _Diagon Alley._ I remembered just in time that I was supposed to know the place and turned my awed gape into a fierce scowl.

“Hold my hand,” he instructed above my head, and held his hand in front of my face, obscuring my view.

I nearly bit it. But a hand will stop me from walking into the wrong direction and giving the game away, right? Still, I couldn’t very well do it without putting up a fuss. I put both of mine behind my back. “I am not a _child!_”

Behind us, the Floo roared, and moments after someone collided into Snape’s back, forcing him into a fast sidestep or fall over me. They both swore.

“Watch where you’re—”

“Don’t stand in front of the bloody Floo—Severus?”

“Lucius.”

Snape grabbed my arm and we all moved hurriedly to the side when the Floo flared yet again.

“So this is your son, hmm? Quite a surprise hearing that little tidbit from Goyle, he found your visi—”

“Albus, meet Mr. Malfoy, a good friend of ours,” Snape said, interrupting him, and pulling me out from where I was unsuccessfully trying to slip in behind his back.

Malfoy gave Snape a quizzical look before turning his attention to me. “Delighted to meet you, little Albus. _What a lovely name._” He held out his hand for a shake.

“No.” Lucius Malfoy looked like one scary mother. Taller than Snape, which was a feat on its own, he had the coldest eyes I’ve ever encountered. Pale blue shards of ice that inspected me like I was a bug to be squashed. Plus, he thought I was an idiot that did not know what he was talking about. What a lovely name indeed!

I put my free hand behind my back. What? I was still in a strop, all right? Snape was manhandling me again, I had legs, I could move out of the way on my own, and what was that about Goyle?

Snape hissed and tightened his grip on my wrist. “I’m going to add one more day to your punishment if you don’t start behaving soon.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“It is until Friday at the moment, do you want to add Saturday?”

“No.” I couldn’t believe he was telling me off in front of Lucius Malfoy, I was going to kill him. I glared up at him with what I hoped to be a fierce scowl (to my utmost horror, I've found this baby face made everything seem cute), and got a pointed look in return. Oh. It was just for show. I could kick myself. If anyone was going to put two and two together it would be Malfoy. I should remember to praise him later for being such a good actor, that’s what. Well I can act too. “No, Daddy, please don’t add Saturday. I’m sorry.”

“Then stick your hand out and say, “Pleased to meet you,” so we can be off. We have a lot of things to do.”

I did as told. I really needed a camera for all his facial expressions. This one looked as if he had swallowed a toad. Perhaps a Pensieve? I should ask Percy.

“Still getting the hang of parenting, I see.” Malfoy said with a weird little smile after I shook his fingertips perfunctorily. “Narcissa would be delighted to help out if you need advice.”

How dare he! There was nothing wrong with Snape’s parenting! Not that I needed a parent, but that wasn’t the issue here! “I wouldn’t listen to her,” I snapped without thought. “Draco is a twat, and he stole Neville’s—” I broke off when Snape picked me up on his arm and told me I had just earned Saturday.

Opposite us Malfoy emulated a marble statue. His face up close was even scarier, and instead of kicking Snape to let me go, I held on tight, sticking my face into his neck.

“No, Severus,” Malfoy said, raising a pale hand. “Don’t punish him on my accord, I overstepped. I am quite interested in hearing this. Draco was caught stealing?”

I was forced to relay the Remembrall incident. Severus was forced to say he knew nothing of it. Lucius went off to Owl Minerva.

“What on earth was that?” Snape asked the moment we were alone, carrying me into a dark alley that smelled closer to rats than magic. If he was going to murder me this would be the place. “Have you lost all reason?!”

“My business is my own, Severus,” I bravely began, inwardly quaking at his volume.

“No it is not,” he hissed. “Not while you are pretending to be my child. Your every action reflects back on me, and as such I would say this is certainly my business too. Why did you do that?”

I pinched my lips together.

“Tell me, and I will remove Saturday,” he ground out through clamped teeth.

Oh, that was a good one. I would have suspected a Sunday addition, which would have made me kick him before I said anything. The man knew just how to play me.

“Fine. You heard him. He said my name was interesting. Interesting! It would be an honour for me if someone named their child after me, not interesting. Would it be so bad if you did that?”

Snape sighed in clear exasperation and closed his eyes for a long moment; my bet was he was praying for patience, he seemed to be that type of person. “We are here to buy clothes; let’s buy clothes so we can go home.”

I dug my heels in. “Would you name your son Albus?”

“No.”

I was crushed.

“It would bring the child endless teasing, Albus. And comments such as that.” He hesitated before adding. “I would, however, have named you his godfather.”

Oh. Well all right.

For the second time he dropped me to my feet and held out his hand.

“No. I can walk on my own.”

“Hand. I don’t trust you not to disappear. You’ve just earned Saturday.”

“You can’t do this, I will die in that dungeon!”

“Hand.”

“No!”

“Sunday.”

“I’m going to tell Poppy.” I held out my hand.

He walked me out of the alley before asking, “Why Poppy?”

“Children need sunlight, and she needs to prepare for me getting ill.”

Above my head he choked on his own spit. Good. Bastard.

* * *

Diagon Alley looked like any old fashioned British hamlet. Cobbled streets and closely packed stone buildings. What immediately set it apart was the people. Wizards and witches strolling about on errands, all dressed in floor length robes, every hue from muted to bright, some with the pointy hats that I had only seen in the opening ceremony. There was no set fashion that I could discern, and later Percy would tell me why we still wore robes and sometimes hats, the core of his answer as always being magic.

Forgetting my hand was clamped securely in Snape’s, I stopped short in front of a dusty window and nearly got pulled off my feet.

He tsked. “Come along, Albus, stop dragging.”

“Look at this!”

He took a step back, letting his shadow fall on me and I pressed my face against the window to see better, my spectacles clinking against the glass. It was amazing. It was beyond creepy. A whole shop filled with dolls of every size and colour, and all of them moving about. There was a couple of tea parties going and they looked to be gossiping, tittering behind tiny porcelain hands, three dolls with neon pink hair were playing hopscotch and elsewhere a brawl erupted between two curly haired boys. There was zero doubt in my mind that this is where Chucky was born.

“Do you want one?” Snape asked, thinking himself extremely funny.

Have I called him an ass yet? I shuddered and kicked at his ankle. Both of us in robes, it was an ineffectual action, but I am sure he got the idea. “Don’t be an ass, Severus.”

“That’s ‘Don’t be an ass, Dad’ for you.”

* * *

Initially I thought to pretend I’ve been here a thousand times, and just get the clothes and go, but the next shop sold brooms. Tiny little baby brooms floating about in the display, just the correct height for catching the eye of a child my size, and I threw on the brakes again.

“Albus!”

“Oh hush. If I have to pretend to be the dutiful son then you can damn well pretend to be the indulgent dad,” I snapped. That shut him up. “Look at this broom! Did you have one as child?”

“No.”

“Me neither.” I waited a beat for him to call me a liar, to say that real Dumbledore had ten new ones every year, and had told him all about the time he got stuck in the apple tree. Nothing.

“Shall we get you one?” he asked, this time sounding overly solicitous, swiping at a bug pestering his face.

“No. I don’t like flying at all.” I was talking about airplanes but it was the same thing wasn’t it? No feet touching the ground either way. I stayed though, watching them flit about, and inside the shop a woman bought one for an excited girl just a little older than myself. Her squeal when she saw it turn pink must have been deafening on the inside, for it reached us clearly. A golden snitch fluttered to the glass, teasing me, the little ball zipping circles around the brooms, and now that I’ve sorted Severus, I freely let my jaw fall in awe.

Snape stood patiently while I watched my fill, and thereafter did not complain whenever I exclaimed over something, rushing from one window to the next.

Dawdling and sightseeing meant I was quite footsore by the time we reached the tailors. Not Madam Malkin’s or Twilling’s, but a shop that specialises in children wear. Well, I say children, but I mean babies.

“No. And don’t you dare add Monday. I am not going into a baby shop,” I hissed, pulling at his hand to turn away.

“It is not a baby shop, they sell to children up to ten years old. Pomona said this was the best, and they don’t skimp on protective spells. You know how the students throw spells around the halls, Albus—”

“I’m not going to be a child long enough to make buying clothes worth it.”

“And how will you manage that, I have yet to see any formula.”

“Have you spent a moment to think that I might have the antidote already?” I have. Believe me, I have. Dumbledore seemed to be revered for his wisdom and his smarts, so why would he have made a potion that can’t be reversed?

“Albus,” Snape seemed to grind his teeth, and his hand tightened uncomfortably around mine. “If you have the antidote, then why this farce?

“…”

“You don’t have it, do you.”

“I might have it.”

All of a sudden he knelt down next to me, his dark eyes searching mine. “You are lying.” He declared. “To get out of clothes shopping.”

Oh holy f—how? “Stop reading my mind!”

“I was not.” Snape stood up, swept me up in his arms and stalked into the shop. “Your mind is still as impenetrable as ever. I was reading your face.”

To ‘punish’ me, he gave me no option in any of the clothes he chose. I didn’t mind, shopping has never been my favorite thing to do, so I let him have his head. What was concerning was the growing stack on the counter. The middle aged sales lady was flitting about in near ecstasy at such a big sale, floating on cloud nine every time he asked her to bring something else. From all I’ve read, he wasn’t the wealthiest... who was going to pay for all this?

“You are. Minerva took some galleons from your purse,” he said when I finally got enough courage to ask, adding two jumpers on top of three others.

“Well, in that case, I want to have candy. I saw a shop further on—”

“Oh, aren’t you cute,” the sales lady overhearing this last part said, and bent down to pinch my cheeks. “Don’t eat too many sweets, it will ruin that lovely little cutesy wootsy teeth!”

Behind her back Snape stopped to smile. It might actually have been the first smile I have seen on his dour countenance—wide and delighted, it transformed his face into something close to handsome. I stared transfixed, and barely paid attention to his words: “Careful, he bites.”


	11. Frogs

Minerva was in my office when we stepped back through the Floo. Sitting behind my desk, she looked the picture of a hardworking deputy headmistress. She also looked frazzled and rose like a demon from hell come to harvest our souls. What was it called here? Inferi? No, that was zombies. Snape’s arm tightened reflexively around my middle. Ha! Scaredy bat.

“I’ve just had the most interesting morning with Lucius Malfoy,” she snapped, shooting me a furious look. “Thirty years, Albus.” Her voice rose an octave. “_Thirty years_ we have worked together, and still you have not learned to warn me when you do things that will ruin my day!”

I clutched at Snape’s robe. “Daddy, make the bad lady go away…”

Snape shook me loose and dropped me like a ragdoll down to the carpet. “You’re on your own here.”

Minerva hissed. “Explain yourself!”

Don’t tell her she sounds like a cat! I tried for cool. “You need not exag—”

_“Albus!”_

I retreated into Severus’s legs.

“Lucius made an inconsiderate comment,” Severus said, before I could respond to the shout, “and Albus reacted like any child would.”

At this, Minerva’s face turned a near apoplectic puce. How was that helping?!

“I’m not a child!” I protested for the so manyth time.

“I did not say you were one.” Snape sighed in clear exasperation above my head. “I was praising your acting skills, Albus. It was a ruse to throw him off the scent, Minerva, and there was simply no time to warn you, we were already at the Floo. I very much doubt Lucius will suspect Albus’s true identity after that performance.”

Oh. The man was a genius. I might be a little bit in love.

He settled his hand on my head, gave my hair a surreptitious tug and turned back to ask Minerva: “Would you care to see our shopping?”

“I will inspect it later.” She sniffed, visibly trying to compose herself. She sank back down and shuffled the papers she had been busy with, until they were all stacked in a tidy little heap. “My apologies, Albus.”

And now I felt bad. I took a deep breath to spill it all, together with my own apologies, and fingers dug painfully into my scalp. Ow! Fine! “Nevermind, Minerva. I am sure I’ve done enough over the last thirty years that would cover the shouting.”

“You’ve done enough over the last three days, Albus Dumbledore,” she returned, but without venom. “Don’t you have a nap to take?”

I did. Her snippy dismissal rolled off me like water from a duck. Naps were wonderful. They were also not frowned on when you were four as much as when you were an adult, and I had been looking forward to mine for the last half hour. We had lunch in Diagon Alley, curry pie and chips, a stodgy meal that had me on my last legs. I was exhausted. It didn’t help that I had been having nightmares ever since that bath either. I yawned on cue.

* * *

We took the Floo down to Snape’s rooms, for which my tired little legs were ever thankful. Once he set me on my feet, I made a beeline for my bedroom, with him short on my heels.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I couldn’t help but complain. It was the second time already that he saved me. Was this going to be our thing now?

“You’ve never been able to lie successfully to Minerva,” Snape scoffed. “It was that or stand there for the next hour while she scolded you. You’d fall asleep, and I would bear the brunt of it. I think not.”

He emptied his pockets onto my bed: a multitude of tiny little Polly Pocket packages, wrapped in brown paper and twine, and waved his wand over it. It was really frustrating having him do nonverbal spells the whole time. I would have loved to know the spell for shrinking and enlarging stuff. I intended to practice once I got my wand from where it was still hidden within the invisibility cloak, stuffed behind the armour outside. But how would I do that if I only remembered Leviosa? Levi-O-sa.

The bed filled, he retreated, calling back over his shoulder. “Have fun unpacking.”

As if. I shoved what I could off to the floor and crawled into bed among the rest. Swore. Crawled out again to untie my boots. Pudgy fingers were not the best tools for tight laces, and I was still swearing volubly at it, at life, and at my pinched fingertips, when Severus returned. Growling some Snape-like invective, he spelled the laces to untie by itself. They wriggled apart like little baby snakes, and he plucked my boots off for me, and pushed me back under the covers.

“I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap.”

“As long as it doesn’t taste like lemon,” I yawned back, not worried, burrowing deeper into the pillow. “Don’t wake me until tomorrow…”

* * *

I sat up with a shout. “Stop Neville!”

“Longbottom?” Percy Weasley asked from where he sat on my rocking chair, nearly giving me a heart attack, and we both spent a long, confused moment, blinking at each other. “What’s he done now?”

“What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

Still? Ugh. “Why are you in my room?” I asked warily after I’d struggled my glasses on. This seemed to be a very odd place for him to be, and a better topic. Neville and his boils were not something that I wanted to get into with him anyway. I had slept through their first potion lesson, and still felt guilty about forgetting it would happen, and also, if I am going to be honest, somewhat upset I hadn’t been able to see it.

“I’m your nanny, remember? I have been called to watch you.”

“Watch me do what?”

“Sleep for the last hour.” He rolled his eyes. “But don’t worry, I have a whole list. I have to personally make sure that you eat a snack, brush your teeth, unpack your clothes, not go into his office or classroom, and definitely not go out of the rooms. I completely agree with the last one, by the way. Do you know the fifth years sit their O.W.L’s this year?” he asked and continued, barely waiting for my nod. “Well, turns out I would much rather be studying for that than spend another day roaming the castle searching for your naughty arse. And since I’m quite behind on my schedule, I will be studying while you keep yourself entertained.” He held up a thick book as evidence, and next to him on the floor was a whole stack. Just how much did Percy Weasley need to study?

“You’re angry at me.” I sulked at his tone. Come on, it’s a bit much, I was allowed a sulk at this fifteen year old, still wet behind the ears kid, calling me naughty. I neary told him who I was right then and there just to have him swallow his tongue. Snape could Obliviate him after, couldn’t he?

“I’m a bit cheesed, yeah,” Percy admitted with a nod.

“It’s not my fault you have to be my nanny, I didn't tell you to prank her—I thought you were joking!”

“I’m not angry about that. She had it coming, and this is better than scrubbing cauldrons. I’m pissed because I was worried about you.”

“You were? How come? You don’t know me.”

“Yes? Let me ask you something, will you be worried if I got hurt?”

“Of course!”

“Well then, why do you think I would feel different if it were you?”

“I wasn’t hurt,” I insisted. And no, my bottom lip did not stick out, I swear.

Riiight. Had anyone ever called Percy pedantic yet? If not, they should have. Some other ‘p’ words could apply too. Pertinacious, which was just a nice way of saying pigheaded, and persnickety, and most of all pissy. For he set his book aside, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and started listing off the myriad of ways I could have gotten myself hurt in the school by running around unsupervised. Playing the prefect, he counted ten off his fingers, and that was just from my bed to the door, though one included him wringing my neck, which was ridiculous.

Ridiculousness aside, neither Snape nor Minerva had been so thorough in chastising me, since both still saw me too much as their Headmaster, grounding or no. Percy did not. It quickly became apparent that he saw a four year old that had him worried, that had set half the school on a wild goose chase, and had yet to feel remorse. He set himself the gigantic task of disabusing me from the idea to ever go off unsupervised again, not stopping until I was suitably cowed.

Magic, and magical castles, according to Percival Weasley, were dangerous!

I bit my tongue on the words ‘You’re not my dad’ and let him get it off his chest. “I’m sorry,” I sniffled tearfully when he finally petered off, feeling thoroughly scolded. It was not even an act. This was so embarrassing!

“It’s fine, I’m not that mad,” he said, and handed me his handkerchief, but looked down his nose at me, still playing the prefect. “I’m sure that you will think twice before doing it again.”

Probably not. There was still so much to do, and I had not even made a dent in my list yet. I fell back down and pulled the comforter over my head. Best to just sleep the rest of the day away, instead of worrying about upsetting one Mr. Weasley again. His little dressing down had scooted him firmly down to number two on my list of favourite people anyway.

* * *

The snack was a sandwich and an apple. With milk. Snape brought it for both of us, told me to behave, and left without further ado, back to whatever the hell he did on a Saturday afternoon. It was not lounging around in front of a fire with a book and a firewhiskey, which was how I would have imagined it.

“Where does he get the food when there’s no kitchen here,” I asked Percy the moment he was safely out of earshot.

“Teachers can call the house-elves for snacks.” Percy shrugged, and stuffed nearly half the sandwich in his mouth. Another had appeared in its place on his plate as soon as he had picked the first, and he happily picked it up also, for a third to appear. “Ask your dad, maybe you can too since you’re not a student.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t matter. Do they only have pumpkin juice? What if I want orange juice or lemonade.”

Well. Seems catering for 700 plus kids meant that the options were limited. Poppy’s list prohibited coffee, as high up as number one, so I didn’t even bother to ask. Oh god. Was that why Snape kept testing me? Because I waited for him to feed me instead of calling the elves? Please don’t let him have thought of that!

Snack done and teeth brushed under direct prefect supervision—“Don’t forget to brush the back teeth, Albus.” “GnhGnhgnnn,” I swore at him—we moved back to the sitting room where he took up his book.

“There’s nothing to do here,” I moaned and fell in a sprawl over the couch. I’d give my very clean front teeth for television right about now. Just the thought of Internet made me moan again.

“You don’t have toys?”

I glared at him. He had seen my room. He had just spent a good amount of time helping me put my new clothes away into an empty closet. Did it look as if I had toys?

“What if I gave you some paper to draw?”

Oh, that would be great. Snape coming in to see me drawing like a little kid. I glared harder.

“I will charm the paper so that your drawings move if you want.”

That sounded amazing. I did my best to keep up the glare.

“And if you promise to be really-really quiet while I study, I will let you borrow my wand and teach you a spell.”

“What spell?” The first thing that jumped to my mind was the one the twins had taught Ron to turn Scabbers yellow. Could I trust Percy not to be pranking me? “I thought we could only do spells when we’re eleven?”

“Who said that? There’s quite a few spells that kids can do if they try hard enough.” He grinned. “And if someone trusted them enough to let them borrow their wand.”

That’s right, wasn’t there that kid that enlarged some bug or thing at the Quidditch cup? I sat up, hardly daring to breathe, sure my eyes were going to pop out of my skull. “Like what spells? How many?”

“I will tell you all you want to know after you’ve let me study.”

“You can study the whole day if you teach me a spell.”

“You’ll have to promise, hand on your heart, to take the very best care of my wand and to return it in pristine condition.”

I gave in like a weak, spineless jellyfish, and promised, my baby tongue tangling over ‘pristine’—all while he did his best not to laugh at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. When he gathered the materials and slipped out his wand, I moved to stand tight at his shoulder to watch, fascinated, while he charmed one of his parchments. The sheet flared a bright orange when he finished the spell, and took a while to settle back to normal. Sadly, it had sounded like a long, gibberish Latin phrase to me, nothing I could replicate, and the wand movement too complicated to track no matter how close my nose was to the process.

The spell he taught me was Colovaria. Co-loh-VA-ree-ah. A spell to change the colour of the ink, or fill a portion of your sketch if all your lines were closed nicely. It made me wonder anew about his brother, but I daren’t ask. He demonstrated on a little heart doodle that he filled a bright pink.

“Mum taught me this when I was around your age. You have to imagine a tiny little bucket filled with the colour paint you need, and then pretend you see it tipping onto the spot you want. That’s the tricky part. Here, you try.” He drew another heart for me and gave me the wand.

It sounded eerily similar to every digital art program I’ve ever seen, and made me wonder if they had brought it over to the Muggles like they did with toilet paper and toothbrushes. How many Muggleborns went on to invent stuff? If Percy had been taught when he was my age, it must have been well before computers became an everyday thing. I really wished I had paid more attention to these types of timelines, as I didn’t even know if mobile phones had been invented already. Wikipedia would be invaluable to me here. On the parchment, everything, except my little heart, filled with a muddy brown.

“I did it!”

“That’s amazing! It took me days before I managed!” He scooped me into a spontaneous hug, squashing me in honest delight. “Great job, Albus!”

Ack!

* * *

Later that night I apologised to Severus. I cornered him in his office where he was marking papers, and I pushed through despite his severe frown. If I waited for a non-frowning moment it would be another week. It was highly embarrassing, and I could feel my face burning throughout.

Freshly bathed and clad in my new pajamas—green long sleeve shirt and pants that had tiny moving designs of revolving planets and constellations, all interspersed with shooting stars that left silvery trails—I felt extremely childish. To counter that, I probably spoke more decorous than I would have otherwise.

“I would like to apologise for any distress I caused you when I sneaked off,” I said, and studied my fluffy slippers rather than meeting his all-seeing eyes. Green again (in fact, my whole closet could be having a Snape induced theme), it had little frog features that opened their mouths and croaked a chorus of ribbits when I wiggled my toes. In keeping with the solemn moment I held my toes very still.

“It’s been days, Albus. What brought this on?” the damn wizard asked, instead of accepting graciously and letting me skulk off to bed.

“It didn’t really sink in that you were worried,” I admitted, glancing up in what might be yet another cute babyish pose. “At the time, I just thought you were…” petering off, I shrugged helplessly, unable to find a nicer word for exaggerating.

“You thought we were making a fuss about nothing,” Snape supplied, putting his quill aside to give me his undivided attention. “You were in the castle the whole time?”

I nodded, not sure where he was going with that question. Where else would I have been?

“Tell me this, Albus, then we will close the topic. How did you manage to evade our tracking spells? You didn’t show up in the castle, even when Sybill scried for you. That’s why I went to Goyle. You know how deeply I despise that man, but Minerva and I feared you had been abducted, and if anyone would be in on that type of scheme, it would be him and his cronies.”

“How? Hogwarts is the safest pla—”

“Don’t even try that with me. I can think of a dozen ways to abduct a student from here. You might have given yourself away buying your potion ingredients, or talking to god-knows-who about it. It won’t be the first time a House-elf had spied on us either. Not everyone is as good as you want them to be, Albus, I’ve said it countless times before, _you cannot trust people_.”

I pulled a face, but wisely aimed it to my feet. Still not the right time for a wiggle. Anyway, I agreed with him there, but if his Albus hadn’t, then I couldn’t very well say so.

“I would like to know how you evaded our tracking spells,” Bat Wizard insisted.

It must be the cloak. But why did I show up on the map? Did it even matter? I couldn’t trust him not to take it off me. “I can’t. I’m sorry, Severus.” My toes literally itched to curl.

I expected him to flare up and demand an answer, but he only nodded, looking at me in a thoughtful manner.

“Very well. I accept your apology, your detention is cancelled.”

“Grounding.” I corrected automatically. Wait, what? Ribbit ribBIT! RIBBIT!

* * *


	12. Time to kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Neymovirne for letting me borrow baby Voldemort for a stroll.
> 
> * * *

Sunday. I sneaked out in the early morning hours, well before sunrise. This time I left him a note. I pretended I was writing code in case someone else came upon it first, but truly I just liked yanking the Potions Professor’s chain.

_Daddy,_  
_I’m off adventuring. Will be back for dinner._  
_Lots of love._  
_Your son._  
_Albus._  
_OXOX_

The cloak was where I had left it and also my wand and map, the latter blessedly still activated. Breathing a sigh of relief, I quickly threw the cloak on first thing and searched for Severus, only relaxing when I saw his footprints unmoving on the spot where his bed should be.

I’ve been here a full week now, and what have I accomplished except for a series of unfortunate events? Heck, I would probably have fitted much better in those books the way I was going about it. I am sure other inserts would already have been halfway to killing Quirrell, would already have saved Sirius Black and de-horcruxed Harry with the aid of their fictitious Goblin Nation. Me? I’ve de-aged myself and spent the week playing happy families. Worse was I was starting to like it. Enough.

Slipping through the deserted hallways as quiet as a mouse, I wracked my brains for a solution to the Quirrell/Voldemort funfest. Up to now, I couldn’t manage to think up something, but I blamed that on adjusting to my new life and Severus’s constant supervision. Today I was going to follow the man, and with nothing to distract me, I would surely think up a great plan!

I hadn’t counted on it being Sunday. The traditional day for sleeping late. Breakfast time came and went with only half the students stirring for the meal. Percy was one of the few that went down for breakfast, and remembering the way he inhaled the sandwiches, I was not surprised. Snape slept late, probably because I had been keeping him up with my nightmares also.

Sitting outside Quirrell’s quarters, out of the way in a small alcove, I had nothing better to do than watch the map. I tweaked and played with it, zooming in and out until I was bored. God help me, but I might kill Quirrell just so I would never have to sit there again.

The castle was cold. I had kept my pajamas on, so as not to wake Snape with my noise, and just changed the slippers for my boots. Stupidly, I hadn’t had the foresight to dress in a warm jumper. Giving up on the map, I curled up into a tight ball to preserve body heat and tried to remember how the myriad of fanfiction authors had killed Voldemort off.

There was time-travel, killing him in infancy, or they turned Voldemort into a baby. I vividly remember one fic where Harry had found him in the forest, a severely disfigured slug-baby, that gave me nightmares just imagining it. I could lure Quirrell into the curd Severus had made, but would that even work?

The Philosopher’s Stone wasn’t in the curd—it was probably still inside the couch where I had stuck it—and face it, I had thrown a lot of things in the cauldron besides that: most of my beard, a lollipop on a stick, quite a few tears, myself and my clothes, and I don’t know how many feathers from Fawkes. That’s beside the fact that I remembered the potion to be golden and cold, whereas Snape’s was a yellow, boiling, nausea inducing snack.

Say he did turn into a child, we’re still talking Quirrell here, would we have a Quirrell baby and will Voldemort float off, or would he become one also? We can be triplets.

Snape would kill me.

Killing.

It all came down to killing Quirrell, leaving Voldemort alive and floating somewhere in the aether, ready to grab another body. I could see no way out of that. I honestly could not see myself killing anything larger than a bug. I should just give it up, this wasn’t going to work.

Oh.

How stupid of me.

When you had a growth, you didn’t cut it off yourself, you went to a surgeon!

* * *

With a last look at the map—Snape was pacing his study, well out of the way, and Minerva was visiting Madam Sprout—I folded it and set off out of the castle.

Getting to the gate was not as easy as you would have thought. Would you believe this was the first time I had stepped out of the castle? Floo travel didn’t count.

Outside the sun beat down, near blinding me with its brightness. I set off on the gravel path into the wrong direction first, turning around the castle corner to see a green expanse and what looked like sky-high poles with large rings on top. Students were flitting in and out on brooms, while on the ground others were playing and chatting, scattered in groups. A cheer rose up when something happened up in the air that I couldn’t even make out.

Pulling the invisibility cloak tighter around me, I turned around to try the other way, walking past a black lake that did not look inviting. Even there students were gathered with their friends, seated on boulders, or lazing in the shade of trees. That reminded me of the Whomping Willow, and I took care to skirt all trees, the dark Forbidden forest included.

I passed a large hut that must have been Hagrid’s. Despite its size, it looked cozy, smoke drifting lazily from the chimney, and was surrounded by pumpkin patches, the squash bigger than me. By this time I was feeling stifled in the cloak, working up a good sweat and seriously considered turning around. Why did I want to do this again? Fuck knows, for I sure didn’t. I honestly might have turned back if it wasn’t for the monstrosity that raised its head behind one of the larger pumpkins, tracking my movement curiously. I sped up. It _whuffed_. I ran.

I crossed the rest of the grounds screaming, chased by the largest dog I have ever encountered. I swear it would have reached Snape at shoulder level if anyone was brave enough to measure the two side by side. Later, once I slipped through the large wrought iron gates and gained back my scattered wits, I would realise that it could have eaten me had it wanted to. That it had bounded playfully and not menacing. That its tongue waggled in tandem with his tail—and I didn’t care a damn. That was one freaky motherfucker, and when I came back I will never ever go out of the castle again. Fuck vitamin D.

* * *

Sticking out my wand and waving it in the air, with little hope that something would go my way, I called the Knight bus.

One moment there was nothing and the next a purple triple decker bus appeared in front of me with an ear-splitting bang. I nearly wet myself a second time in so many minutes, and stood trembling like an idiot when the doors slid open millimeters from my face.

“Well, all right? Who called?” A pimply faced boy dressed in a purple suit appeared at the door, and looked about, looked up and then down. His eyes seemed to find mine through the cloak. “Hop to it young invisible lad or lassie, you don’ want Mistress McGonagall to start missing you!” he shouted, and stood aside with a welcoming bow and sweeping arm. “Make it a quick one!”

I scooted up the steps as fast as my mummy garb could allow while he introduced himself as Stan Shunpike, and rattled off a spiel about the bus service. The door slammed behind us, and he squeezed past me. The driver was an elderly man, sitting in an armchair of all things, reading a newspaper and sipping effeminately from a porcelain tea cup, pinky extended in a ridgid point.

“That will be eleven sickles, boyo,” Stan said, holding out his hand.

Fuckit.

“Can I pay you back?”

The doors banged open behind me. I took that as a no, even before he said so.

“Please! It’s vital I get to the Ministry!”

“Is it? You sound a bit young to be job hunting already. Off you go, call us when you have the money to travel, we are not the Social Se—” Money floated in front of his face. Silver coins that he caught deftly, disappearing it into a pocket as if it never was. The doors closed behind me and he shooed me inside. “Take any chair you like, but mind you hold on tight!”

The deck was filled with an eclectic collection of chairs, from straight back wooden armchairs to floral two seater sofas, one on which a homeless man dressed in dark rags lay stretched out on. I scooted past to the farthest chair from him, not feeling so safe in my invisibility anymore. He was the sole occupant of the deck, so no one else could have paid my fare, but he looked to be fast asleep.

I settled warily in a small sofa that seemed to have been made for a child just my size, pulling the cloak tight around me while keeping my eyes trained on him. If he moved, I would scream, and hopefully Stan or someone will come save me.

The bus moved, a neck wrenching spurt of speed that slammed all the chairs as one to the back, near piling on each other. I screamed.

My chair and I were shunted forwards, backwards and to the sides at each turn, slamming viciously against the walls. By the fourth scream, the homeless man rose and waded untouched through the tumultuous sea of furniture. He took hold of my little sofa and dragged it forward, sticking it to the floor facing his own. Another wave of his wand, and a yellow dome sparked up around us, immediately intercepting a chair headed straight at me.

He sat down opposite me in this little, yellow tinged, island of calm. All I could see of his shadowed face was the one dark beady eye pinning me down, everything else was covered by the hood of his black cloak. I shivered.

* * *

“T-thank you,” I told my scary saviour. Monstrous dog, heart-attack inducing bus, and now stranger-danger, it felt like I was tap dancing on my last nerve.

“Hm.”

The man dug into his cloak pocket, searching around for a good minute before he found what he needed, holding it out to me. His hand was scarred, and I couldn’t help but recoil from the awful sight, immediately wishing I hadn’t, for it seemed the invisibility cloak were defective and his dark eye followed my movements easily. I forced myself to sit forward and look at what he was offering.

He held out a purple, cellophane wrapped candy, that was as big as my thumb.

“What’s that?” I couldn’t help myself. Snape had refused to visit Sugar Plum’s Sweets shop yesterday, and the Jelly Slug that Percy had tucked into my hand before leaving, felt like ages ago.

“Drooble's Best Blowing Gum,” he grunted in a rough voice. “You can blow bubbles that won’t pop for days.”

“I’m not allowed to accept candy from strangers,” I said seriously from under the cloak. Trying to stay in character, I stuck my hands behind my back just in case they had a mind of their own.

The man’s hood gave me a solemn nod, but he could have been silently laughing at my baby ass for all I knew.

“That’s a very good rule,” he growled, sounding as if he was talking past a grater. “Do you have a bezoar?”

Reaching into his pocket again, his arm disappearing nearly up to his elbow this time, he brought one out and offered it together with the candy.

Caramel coloured, it was the size of a walnut and had a dark spiral pattern set into its glossy surface. It looked innocuous. Even so, I wasn’t going to touch that shit. It had been in the stomach of a goat, no thank you.

I had still been awake for this part of Snape’s potions’ lesson and this wizard was offering me a high quality bezoar. The lesser ones were bigger, grey coloured, still had tufts of hair or gunk sticking out, and ugly enough to want to make you die rather than swallow it.

Besides, his offering needn’t be poison. It could be a sleeping potion for which his bezoar would be useless, and he could be a harvester of young children. Or he could be a lovely soul that brought bright sunshine and bubblegum to everyone he met, but his dark, unblinking eye was scary. It scared me to such an extent that when the bus lurched to a stop, and a plump middle-aged woman climbed down from one of the upper levels, I jumped up and followed her out, rushing after.

Wizards were weird. No one followed me out the bus. If I saw a four year old wandering about alone, you can bet your ass I would help them back home. Perhaps they could only see my presence through the cloak, and not my age? Was it better or just as bad if they mistook me for a student. Nonsense, I had a baby voice, nothing sounding near that of an eleven year old. Irresponsible.

* * *

We were in a country lane, the fresh air and a plethora of nature clued me in, and my heart sank. How on earth was I going to get to the Ministry from here? There was nothing to it, I followed the woman down the little dirt road up to a wooden gate. Beyond it was a tidy garden and farmhouse but the oddest building I’ve ever seen. It looked like a three year old’s lego tower, all rooms stacked on top of each other, sticking out at the sides, everything at an odd leaning angle that was slightly nausea inducing. Holy hell, I found the Burrow.

The woman opened the gate and turned. “Well come on dear, don’t dawdle. I don’t know about you, but I can do with a soothing cuppa after such a ride.”

I turned around. There was no one behind me. When I turned back she was looking straight at me. I felt like stomping my feet. Was the cloak defective? “How?!”

“I’ve six boys, you tend to get an eye for these things,” she said, smiling kindly. “Come along, dear, Ginny would have made tea. If I am not mistaken, she was going to try her hand at baking us some scones with clotted cream.”

What were the odds I would encounter another main character from the books. Huh. I had missed lunch, and breakfast had been a sad sandwich. My stomach forced me to follow her home but my feet had no complaints either. It’s not as if I could walk to London! Besides, this was Molly Weasley, safe haven for orphans, we all knew her.

“You may call me Molly,” she said as she closed the gate behind us.

Molly entered the Burrow first, holding the door for me. I slipped in and took post at the wall right next to the door, ready for escape. Buttercup yellow gingham curtains, gleaming wooden floor, wide windows over a low sink, bright yellow cupboards and an Aga, it all looked so inviting. If this was my kitchen I would never leave it. There’s the clock! Fred and George’s golden hands moved from School to Mortal Peril with a loud ding as I watched, and right back to School one second after. Molly Weasley glanced at it and tsked.

Footsteps thundered overhead and down what sounded like a set of stairs before a whirlwind entered the kitchen. Ginny Weasley. Just like with Percy, I couldn’t help but fangirl a moment over the kid. She looked like a typical ten year old, all limbs and flowing hair, rushing to hug Molly with a happy squeal.

“Oh Mum! You’re back! I’m so glad you survived! I feared death and despair! Five more minutes and I would have called the Aurors on her!”

“Don’t be silly, love,” Molly chided. “Aunt Muriel is a gentle soul, hiding a soft heart—” She broke off, unable to keep up the pretence even that long, it seemed, and they both burst into giggles and sniggers, holding each other up until their mirth passed.

“What did she send me this time?” Ginny hiccuped and wiped away tears. I was going to make damn sure she never got that Diary!

A dress. Molly brought it out of her purse in a Mary Poppins move that made me wonder how many Muggleborn were in the film industry, and held it up for inspection. It was purple. I was starting to detest that colour. Buttoned up to a high neck, it had long sleeves that ended in large, old fashioned ruffles and skirt that would have put a three-tiered wedding cake to shame.

“Mum!” Ginny laugh-groaned horrified.

“Don’t worry, love, this will be great for practicing tailoring spells, just look at the strong magical weave.” She held it up against the window and little rainbows seemed to dance through the cloth. Then she folded it over the back of the chair and clapped her hands. “Right. Tea. I’m parched.”

It was magical. You can kill me for repeating it near daily but I will tell you, this world was magical, and seeing someone cast an amazing spell will need more than a week to get old. She slipped her wand out of her sleeve—did everyone except me know how to do that!— and started the kitchen up with an intricate wave. Teacups and saucers, spoons and plates, little cake forks and butter knives, all danced out of the cupboards in fancy whirls à la Beauty and the Beast style, and arranged three settings on the large kitchen table.

“Dad’s home?” Ginny asked, carrying a plate stacked high with scones to the table, the old fashioned way.

“No, love. He’s still out with his mates. We have a little visitor.” Molly pulled a chair out and looked at me. “Come along. It’s nicer when it’s hot.”

“A ghost,” Ginny breathed in awe, looking everywhere except where I still stood hesitant.

Molly busied herself with a pot of tea and left me to it. Unlike the bus this didn’t feel like a trap, everything was sunshine and bliss, the door still wide open to the birdsongs outside, and after a moment I sidled to the chair. She was right next to me when I reached it and held out her hands for the cloak, exclaiming that it would be an awful waste not to be able to enjoy eating Ginny’s lovely scones properly.

There was no other option. I un-mummified myself and she placed the invisibility cloak right next to the dress. Ginny squealed at the cloak, rushing over to feel the material, then squealed at me. Apparently I was cute! This nonsense dropped her quite a few points on my list, but I was still going to do her the favour of burning the Diary or whatever.

“Hang on, love,” Molly said after I sat down, and wielding a damp cloth, she swiped my hands and face thoroughly.

“Help!” I sputtered in shock as the cloth wiped a path to my ear. “I can do it!”

“Of course you can.” Unperturbed, Molly raised my chair with a charm until I sat in a comfortable position above the table (I wish she would teach this spell to Snape), then proceeded to pacify me by exaggerating sweetly. “How old are you, five? Six? Such a big lad. Sorry, sweetheart, I am just in a hurry for the”—She repeated the whole process of wiping-the-unsuspecting-child on Ginny. “Mum!”— “lovely scones.”

Her antics succeeded in smoothing my ruffled feathers. Yes, go away, I was that simple. Come on, you should have seen Ginny’s dismay!

“Strawberry jam, dear?”

I nodded and she placed a small pot next to my plate. So far everyone from Snape, through Minerva to Percy kept serving me and filled my plate without asking, Minerva even going so far as cutting my food. Perhaps it was my distress over the surprise wash, but Molly Weasley put everything in my reach and left me to get on with it.

Believe me, just because you were an adult before and deft with all things eating, doesn’t make it easier now that you have baby hands. Fingers gripped with less strength and they were so small! Picking something up was a much more precarious activity when you can barely fit your hand over or around it, and I don’t remember silverware being so heavy. Forks seemed infinitely longer, and if I didn’t pay attention I still misjudged the distance between them and my mouth. I paid extra care not to spill crumbs and jam everywhere, but it still happened. Minerva would be active with the napkin right about now but here they paid it no mind.

I told them my name was Al, that I was on an adventure, and yes, my parents knew exactly where I was. Well, Snape might find out now that I wasn’t hiding under the cloak, right? So not lying per se. No thank you, I didn’t need help going home.

The questions were interspersed through high praise to Ginny on her baking prowess and a discussion about their favourite chicken’s poor egg laying of late. All of which was probably meant to put me at ease.

She needn’t have bothered. I was in love with both of them and quite understood how Harry must have felt. Molly made me miss my own mom with a fierce ache and unexpected tears lodged in my throat, but now was definitely not the time for a good cry, so I grabbed a scone and stuffed as much of it as I could into my mouth. The scones were as large as my hand, but I managed two stacked high with jam and cream, washing it all down with lovely milky tea, and on cue with the very last bite my eyes turned heavy. Naptime.

“Ginny, why don’t you take little Alb-Al to the sitting room while I clean things up here. The sofa dear. Put the wireless on, it’s time for your show, isn’t it?”

I had caught her slip. I also caught her mugging eyes at her daughter in some silent conversation. But I didn’t care. A sofa sounded lovely, and I followed Ginny out of the kitchen.

Let her call Snape if she wanted. I can do the ministry on another day, there’s no rush. I yawned and stumbled sleepily through the doorway.

Considering it a moment, I figured one of her boys must have written home about me. Percy most likely. Well, fanon sometimes had Ron as a gossip. Snape’s child would definitely be news, right? And the bus had stopped at the school. I yawned a second time, and let Ginny divest me of my boots. Oh hot damn, I was still in my pajamas! Neither of them had blinked at that! Witches were as weird as wizards, it seemed. On cue the wireless announced a song by the popular boy band, the Weird Sisters, and I fell asleep moments after Ginny settled a fluffy throw over me.

* * *


	13. The devil came calling.

I woke with the flare of the Burrow’s Floo and scrambled upright, feeling blindly for my glasses.

Ginny was sitting opposite me, relaxing curled on a chair with a book. A quick scan of the room showed it to be bat free, and my heart started beating again.

“Mum left to uh… do some shopping. Dad’s here if you need anything. Do you want some water?”

Shopping. Yeah, right. “No thanks.”

I pulled my knees up under my chin and wound my arms around them. There was nothing else to do but wait for Snape to come fetch me, raining fire and brimstone on my head.

The clock ticked.

Minutes passed slow like molasses. I would probably be grounded for a month.

“Do you want me to read you a story?” Ginny asked, and I nearly said yes just to get the time to pass. The idea of Snape finding us in a childish game was what stopped me.

Ginny curled up before the hearth with the offered book, letting me do as I pleased. Which was sit and bite the skin off my thumb. I swear their damned clock ticked the seconds backwards.

The sound of stomping feet from the kitchen briefly played havoc with my nerves, but it turned out to be Arthur. A lanky, bespectacled man with the requisite ginger hair and prominent adam’s apple came to the sitting room.

“What have we here, Ginny love. Did we make another one while I was at work?” A hand fell on my hair and he turned my head playfully this way and that. “This one has brown hair, I thought we came in one colour only! Do you think your Mum’s been holding out on me love?”

Ginny was doing something weird, trying to roll her eyes while simultaneously giggling at his silly joke. As for myself, I am sure I did not look impressed as he gave it up to do introductions and shake my hand. He proceeded to welcome me with an exaggerated formal speech to their humble abode—setting Ginny off again—and asked if I wanted a snack. Well… I could just as well eat while we waited for my demise.

Arthur’s idea of a snack was a towering sandwich. Two slices of dark homemade bread stacked with nearly half of the fridge’s contents in it, slathered in mustard and mayonnaise. He made three, raised the kitchen chair for me without a thought, and sat chatting while we ate. To avoid answering difficult questions, I made sure my mouth was full the whole time. None came.

When the final crumbs were scarfed down, he cleaned the kitchen spotless with a wave of his wand. Dishes rushed to wash themselves, and he sent us on our way, leaving to the shed.

Still no Snape.

Ginny offered to play a game of Exploding Snap with me, still pretending we were waiting for her mum only.

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Thanks for the tea, Ginny, I will go now.”

“Oh but you can’t go, Al. Mum—Mum would want to say goodbye and pack you some dinner, I’m sure!”

Bless the child. Instead of simply calling Arthur, she did everything to try and dissuade me as I fetched my cloak, even tried to play on my heartstrings, saying her Mum would be mad at her for letting me go. That one did make me stop and hesitate.

“I really have to go, I have something important to do.” Inspiration struck. “If you let me go, you will help me stop a bad man, Ginny. I will make sure they write your name in the papers… just like Harry Potter.”

Her eyes turned glassy.

I felt like a heel. Not that it dissuaded me from trying harder. “Please, Ginny, I have to get away before my dad comes—”

“I knew it! Fred told us how horrid your dad was!”

What?

“Don’t worry, I won’t let him get you!”

Oh.

She thought the ‘bad man’ was Snape? Fred was definitely getting a kick at some point—Severus Snape was not horrid! I nearly ruined the whole thing then and there by saying exactly that. Instead I bit my tongue, stuck both feet in the water, praying he will never know, and played along.

“Please, Ginny! If he finds me, he’ll kill me!”

* * *

Ginevra Molly Weasley had a plan. She took immediate action, and this four year old was dragged along in her wake, no hope of escape. Honestly, I was just happy to go along, letting someone else do the thinking for a change. And besides, any action was better than waiting for Severus. It had been nearly an hour!

She grabbed my hand, and we fled out the kitchen door, around their wonky home, through a vegetable patch, and straight towards a large barn.

“Dad’s on the other side, he won’t hear,” she said, sliding the creaking barn doors open. The smell of hay and chickens met us, the barn a dimly lit cavern, thin rays of sunlight threading through the wooden slats. Ginny dragged me inside. “Wait until you see this!”

‘This’ was a Muggle car. To be more precise, a light blue Ford Anglia 105E Deluxe, and I stood in awe. The very one Ron and Harry drove to school, an honest to god flying car. And yes, I geeked a moment. Anyone would.

“It flies!” she told me unnecessarily, pushing me towards it. “Be quick!”

Ginny boosted me into the passenger side, slamming the door behind me, and rushed around to slide in behind the steering wheel. Face shining with excitement, she grabbed the wheel with both hands. “We’re going to fly, Albus! Where do you want to go?”

I didn’t have to answer, for she paid me no more mind, busy scrabbling for the keys. Pulling her seat closer to the steering wheel, she adjusted the mirror, and hopped a few times excited in her seat, all the while prattling on how her dad had shown them how to drive. ‘It was easy!’

Was it? I could barely see above the dash and I doubt she fared much better. Rising up on my knees, I turned around to gawk at the roomy interior. A whole crowd could fit in the back, the perspective was so skewed that my eyes crossed.

“Let’s see. I press this with my foot… ” Ginny slid down as far as she could to reach and stepped on a pedal. “And turn the key…”

The starter whined, but nothing happened.

She twisted the key again. “Put on your seatbelt, Albus, Dad says all the Muggles wear them. Why is it not working, was it the other one?” This time, she ducked completely under the steering wheel, catching her ponytail in the turn indicator, still twisting the starter, and switched her foot to another pedal, pumping it energetically.

I was beginning to seriously doubt the wisdom of her plan. Yes, really. While she struggled with the car, I did my best to convince myself that it was going to be fine, that I was an adult. She was supervised. But that brought a whole slew of different problems. If I was the adult here, did that mean I had just abducted a child? Was I really going to let her fly?! I couldn’t!

Severus was going to be livid.

Fucking hell. Severus was going to be livid, and I could only hope that he had not informed Minerva of my absence. I groaned.

“Please don’t cry,” Ginny said.

“What?”

“You look like you’re going to cry. I won’t let your dad get you, I promise.”

Could she promise the same for Minerva? “I’m not going to cry!”

She twisted the starter again.

Oh God, I hated flying! My toes curled in fear—oh for fuck’s sake, my boots were still next to the sofa! “Ginny…”

“Wait, I got it—” the engine roared to life, and she did something awful with the clutch, grinding the gear into place. Chickens scattered for safety in a tornado of feathers. The car shuddered, rattling our teeth.

A white faced Severus Snape appeared with a loud crack directly in front of the Ford. _He looked like the Devil come calling. Oh God. Help!_ Severus mouthed something, pointing at us, but it was impossible to hear under the engine’s noise.

“Ginny!” I shouted.

“I see him!” She yelled and, with a determined expression on her freckled face, _pressed her foot on the gas!_

“No!”

The car lurched forward.

The next moment Severus was gone—did we go over him?! Shouldn’t we feel a bump? What was that crack?

Twisting in my seat, I searched desperately for his body as the car sped towards the open barn doors, but the barn was empty.

“Ginny!” I turned around and smacked her arm. I’m sorry. I did it without thought—she just killed Snape! My heart was in my mouth, no, that wasn’t it, I was going to barf. “Stop the car! You killed him!”

Grabbing for the door handle, I was prepared to jump out—even if the next moment we took flight—but there was no need to do a ‘Mission Impossible’ stunt. The little Ford never had a chance to lift off. Violet sparks surrounded us, and the car lurched once more, this time to a definite, grinding stop.

Severus! Please be okay! Please-please! I will never leave the castle again, I swear! With no warning, the car gave a last stutter, and my door swung open. Still gripping the handle, I tumbled with a shout towards the hay covered barn floor. In a blur of black robes, Snape caught me by the back of my pajama shirt, millimeters from a face plant.

“You’re alive!” I cried in relief, starfished in his safe grip. I wiggled in an attempt to stand, wanting nothing more than to hug him to death and maybe sob my heart out. He ignored me, raising me up into an embarrassing dangle to get a good look at his face. His nostrils flared and his black eyes bore a hole through my skull, the man was livid.

“I have had enough practice in rapid Apparition, I would not die from a Muggle car. So it wasn’t a murder attempt, I take it?” he questioned silky soft, not even sounding out of breath, and my stomach twisted.

“Of course, I—”

“Ginevra Molly Weasley! What were you thinking, trying to take out the car!” Molly’s shout interrupted me.

Still in Snape’s grip, I twisted around to see her standing inches from the hood, wand out, red hair crackling in a halo above her head. Wow.

“Mum! I was saving Albus!”

“By trying to kill him!? Neither of you have enough magic to keep the car in the air, even if he did need saving!”

“I did not!” I protested.

“I know you didn’t, dear. I’ve just had a lovely chat with your daddy.” Molly told me kindly before turning her attention back to Ginny.

Well. I probably needed saving right about now. Snape had not put me down yet. He reached into the car and gathered my invisibility cloak, while Molly scolded her tearful daughter for her part in our little daring-do. She herded Ginny to the house, remonstrating all the while, Snape following close behind. I feared my turn would soon come and wisely did not protest being carried like a grocery sack. No need to aggravate Danger Bat further, right?

At the vegetable patch, I tried to tell Molly it was not all Ginny’s fault.

“You’re four years old, dear. You are not to blame for this little adventure. Would you like some tea?” she asked, and started section B of the scolding, berating Ginny for nearly killing Professor Snape, which would leave poor little Albus an orphan. That part I wholeheartedly agreed with. But…

“She wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t tell her S-my Dad was going to kill me! I made her think I was running away from him!”

Snape dropped me on my feet. Molly stopped, and Ginny turned to stare at me in shock, her freckles showing up stark in her pale face.

“I’m sorry!” I wailed at them all.

Inside, Ginny rushed for the stairs, a harried Molly made for the kettle, and Snape walked us through to the sitting room. Dejected, I prepared to be Floo’d out, but he plucked me up and dropped me on the sofa. I scrambled to sit.

“Sev—”

“Quiet,” he ordered. His wand appeared, and I felt the tingle of magic run through my pajama bottoms. “Not a word, Albus.” He flung my cloak on the chair opposite, and with that he returned back to the kitchen, not sparing me a further glance. What was that?

A sticking charm.

The damn Wizard had _stuck_ me to the sofa.

Well, he had stuck my clothes. While he was doing God knows what in the kitchen, I tested the spell. I could move if I was willing to walk bent over with the large cushion on my butt or to slither out of my pajamas and run off starkers. I took the third option. Which was crossing my arms, sticking my bottom lip out, and glaring at the empty chair opposite.

* * *

I would love to know what went down in the kitchen, but the murmur of their voices too low to hear anything. It took forever before Snape came back with a plate of cookies and a steaming cup of tea. Setting them down next to the chair opposite me, he slipped his wand out of his sleeve and cast a charm around the room. Something for privacy, I figured, when my ears popped.

Done, he settled in the chair, stretched his legs out as if he had all the time in the world, and picked up his tea. While I sat, gnashing my baby teeth, he took up a cookie, dipped it ever so slowly into the milky drink, and bit into it, savouring the taste. It looked like a chocolate chip… He was on his second cookie before he even bothered to look at me.

I glared at him.

He wiped the crumbs off his fingers daintily over the plate.

“I’ve just spent an uncomfortable hour being grilled by Molly Weasley—”

“She’s nice,” I found myself saying inanely, my mind on the cookies.

“_She is not nice. She is a harridan._ I repeat, I’ve just spent an uncomfortable hour being grilled by Molly Weasley as to my suitability as a father,” he said, his calm tone frightening. “Apparently, it distressed her to find a toddler unattended on the road in the middle of nowhere. Then I come here to fetch said unattended _toddler_, only to become a victim of attempted manslaughter by two idiotic children. I do not ever—ever want a repeat of today, are we clear?”

“I think a toddler is a two year old, I am probably a preschooler, Severus. It’s not my fault she stepped on the—”

“_Albus_,” he hissed, channeling Minerva, he really had been taking lessons. His face held nothing but disappointment.

I sagged. It was all my fault. And I had said some unforgivable things. Lied. “I’m sorry! And I’m sorry about what I told her, I—”

“I don’t care about that, and I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to behave as if you had a working brain. Be a child if you want to be one so much, but stop running off and scaring the life out of me.”

I sucked in my bottom lip lest the trembling gave me away. This readiness to cry at the least provocation was surely something to do with this size. All the emotions just under the surface, ready to bubble up with the smallest rebuke. “_I’m sorry_.”

“Molly said you were off on an ‘adventure’,” he lowered his tone even more, sounding tired. I found myself wishing for one insane moment that he was Minerva, thinking I might prefer being shouted at. He set the tea aside with a long sigh. “What adventure, Albus.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“You can and you will.”

“No.”

“Don’t do this. You’ve always kept me involved in your plans, and I trusted you to take care of information you couldn’t share. But that was when you were an adult, with the abilities of an adult. _What. Adventure._”

“I cannot tell you—everything I’m doing is to keep you safe!”

He lost it and leaned forward to snarl: “Everything is safer for me than it is for you, you are four years old! What on earth is so special that you believe you can do it better than an adult!”

“The Aurors will do it!” Shit. I clasped my hands in front of my idiotic mouth.

He sat back.

“The Aurors,” he said in a flat voice.

“Maybe?”

Snape hissed and I tried to melt myself into the cushions.

“You were going to go all the way to London, in Arthur Weasley’s damn flying car no less, to see the Aurors. All of today was just to keep me out of the loop and... what, safe?”

Fine! “Yes.”

“This has something to do with Potter.”

“No!”

He leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering. “Come here, let me see—”

I hid my face in my hands, and he tsked loudly while I thought to kick myself.

Silence.

I peeked through my fingers.

“You really are nothing but a child.”

“Am not.”

“So be it. Unstick yourself from that chair, and I will accept that you are an adult. I will let you continue unhindered on your little adventure, hell, I might even convince Molly to let you take Ginevra with you.”

My wand was still in the pocket of my pajama shirt. As of yet I can do sparks, and if I concentrated very hard, I could probably turn their couch a muddy brown. I would look ridiculous to try. I tried for an adult tone instead. “Severus. It is imperative that I talk to the Aurors today. I am sorry if you don't like the way I went about it—”

He pinched his nose between forefinger and thumb and took a deep fortifying breath. “Be quiet.”

My heart lurched. “What?”

“Admit that you are four years old, unable to release yourself from that damned sofa, and ask me to take you to the Aurors.”

“You will take me?”

“You only ever had to ask.”

* * *

We did not move until I admitted that I was stuck. He also waited for me to ask, insisting on a ‘please’ before he freed me from the chair.

“Going, dear?” Molly asked from the doorway when Snape tugged on my boots. “Everything sorted, then?”

“It seems so.” Snape sighed where he was kneeling before me. “I don’t know how you manage with ten.”

“Seven, dear. Though some days Fred and George might feel like a crowd.” She held out a maroon jumper with a golden ‘R’ on it.

He snorted, taking it from her, and I submitted to being manhandled into it. It was much too soon to protest anything, his face still sported a veritable storm, but even so he took care to be gentle. He picked me up against his chest, settling me on his arm and bent to scoop my cloak. Finally!

“I will let him write an apology to Ginevra first thing tomorrow,” he told Molly before ordering me: “Be a good little boy and thank Mrs. Weasley for her help, Albus.”

I hated him.

* * *

I expected Snape to take us to the telephone box, but he Floo’d us directly from the Burrow into the Ministry. The cavernous entrance was empty, the two long rows of gilded fireplaces dark. Severus’s footsteps echoed off the gleaming wooden floor. He did not put me down, and I did not ask.

Where was everyone? This was something I should know, as the old Albus would have, so I bit my tongue against the myriad of questions that tumbled through my mind.

I tried not to stare at the fountain with its golden statues as if I had never seen it before, and we passed uncontested through a set of—surprise!—golden gates to a wall of lifts. If Percy was here, he would be telling me how wizardkind had introduced these to the Muggles. Surely some of the inventions went the other way round, would Wizards even admit they copied something from the Muggles?

Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody met us on level two, in a corridor lined with doors.

Now without his hooded cloak, I could clearly see his scarred face, a chunk of his nose missing. His dark beady eye pinned me down, and the other—a startling, electric blue orb—rotated up to scan Severus. If ‘scary’ had a picture in the dictionary, this wizard would be it. Unable to help myself, I hugged Severus tight, shuddering.

“About time you got here, laddie,” he growled. “I was about to put up a search.”

“Voldemort is alive and on the back of Quirrell’s head!”

* * *


	14. And now the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the end, though you can expect an Epilogue soon. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this! Shout out to Neymovirne for wrangling some of the chapters into shape, those that aren’t are totally my bad :) Go check out her stuff too, am sure you will enjoy.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

  
“Voldemort is alive and on the back of Quirrell’s head!”

Snape’s face turned deathly white, and he nearly dropped me.

Moody turned _both_ eyes on me. “Here now,” he growled. “I thought you were coming to complain about something important.”

This was not important? I wondered astonished as Moody turned his electric blue eye pointedly to Snape and back. Was he trying to tell me something? He repeated the movement.

“...”

“Would you prefer to speak to me alone, without your father present?” Moody asked, curling his lip at Snape and confusing me even more.

What? Why would I want to do that?

“Albus did not come to inform you of my abuse or any parental inadequacies,” Snape spat above my head, tightening his grip around me. “I suggest you—”

The fuck he thought?! Seeing red, I launched myself at Moody, fists out. “There’s nothing wrong with my Daddy!”

I would have pot him one right on the nose if Severus had slower reflexes. Instead, my fists flew harmlessly through the air as he swung me away. Flailing, I swore at Moody with everything I had in my arsenal until Severus put his hand over my mouth.

“Albus, _enough_.”

“Mpfhhmm!”

“It is an honest mistake to make,” Severus said, keeping his hand in place. “While I appreciate your willingness to defend my honour, I do have an unsavory past. I would rather hear more about Quirrell. How do you know about him and the Dark Lord?”

“You can’t even say his name,” Moody snorted at Snape before turning to growl at me. “This is not something to joke about, laddie.”

I kicked out at him, forcing Severus to take a step back. He still had his hand firmly over my mouth, and my ‘Fuck you, Asshole!’ to Moody was muffled. Dared I bite?

“Moody. I assure you if Albus said he saw such a thing, then we can believe him.”

“And why would he not tell you this, Snape? Why go to all this trouble instead?”

_I could answer that if you let me!_ I stuck my tongue out and licked his fingers. What little of his face I could see from below twisted in disgust. Why? I saw him cut up fat slugs as large as my foot, what’s spit to that.

“It’s something I would love to know myself. I’ll let you speak, Albus. Say anything else and we go home, nod if you understand,” Snape said.

I nodded.

He released my mouth. “Why did you not come to me with this?”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt!”

“This again, Albus?”

Judging by how the corners of his mouth pulled down and his arms tensed even more around me, I was wrong thinking this would make him happy. Fuck. Nothing I was going to say tonight was going to make him happy. I wiggled around in his arms to give him an apologetic hug. Squeezing his neck as tight as I could to bring the feeling of remorse over, I started to explain about Quirrell.

“Not here!” Moody growled, and we followed him to a deserted office.

* * *

I told them everything.

From how I found the cloak in a deserted tunnel and capered around the school, playing hide and seek from my Dad, to when I saw Quirrel in an empty classroom talking to a thing on his head, calling it Voldemort.

“Voldemort?” Moody asked.

Shit, he wouldn’t have, right? “He said ‘My Lord’ but Percy said that’s what Death Eaters called You Know Who, and Dumbledore said You Know Who was Voldemort!” Fucking hell I was an amazing liar.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Severus corrected.

“What?”

“You heard me, Albus.” Freeing a hand Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving me to dangle on his other arm. I clutched at his robe. “Show some respect to your elders,” he continued in a temper, “we’ve talked about this.”

We hadn’t. I nearly said that too, but a furious look from Severus had me swallowing the words, and I finally got that it was an act for Moody’s benefit. Maybe.

“Headmaster Dumbledore. Sorry, Daddy.”

I finished the recounting of my fictional adventure.

Moody stood watching us, his blue orb swiveling every now and then from me to Snape who had kept hold of me like I was his anchor. It was impossible to see on his scarred face what he thought, did he believe me? When I came to the part about Horcruxes Mad-Eye stopped me and left the office.

“Can you put me down?” I asked Snape when we were alone. “You’re squishing me.”

“No.” But he did relax his grip. “You’ll stay right here where I won’t lose you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine? Nothing about this is fine, Albus. How long have you known about this—no, don’t tell me, the walls have ears!” He started pacing, carrying me up and down the small office and hissing above my head. “I ought to wring your neck. Honestly, being sent to Azkaban would be more peaceful, and I speak from _experience_.”

Oh, that was unfair. I blinked back the automatic tears. “Please, put me down.”

“No. I don’t trust you not to disappear.”

Okay. Fine. At least that meant he won’t rush off to deal with Quirrell himself. Which begged the question: “Where did Moody go?”

Snape sighed. “To call the Headmaster, that would be my bet.”

“But—”

“_Not here_,” he whispered furiously into my hair, echoing Mad-Eye.

God. This was such a mess; it seemed I hadn’t thought it through at all. He hitched me higher against his chest, and I clutched at his neck. I wanted to go home. “I’m sorry.”

* * *

  
By the time Moody came back, Snape had stopped pacing and sat us in the hard-backed visitor’s chair. With Moody came a square-jawed, middle-aged woman, with close cropped grey hair, who looked curiously at me through her monocle.

Madam Bones. She introduced herself to me in a booming voice that had me cringing back into Severus and herded us out and down the hall to her office. This one was three times the size, with several comfortable chairs and even a couch. Lavishly decorated with the same opulent flair present in the Ministry’s entrance, it was dominated by a large hearth. She bade us sit, which Snape did with me on his lap, and offered us tea from a set that magically appeared on her desk. Severus declined for both of us. Then she asked me to repeat the whole story, listening with attention.

Similar to Moody, her first question was why I had not relayed any of this to Snape. I answered the same, my voice sounding childlike and scared to my own ears. Sadly, I wasn’t faking it. Being scrutinized by the witch had me quaking in my boots, and I tried as unobtrusively as possible to meld myself into Snape.

She turned her attention to Severus. Had he noticed anything strange about Quirrell? Was the turban explained in any way? What did he know of Quirrell’s trip the year before? Had Quirrell been known to him as a Death Eater? What was his impression on my ‘story’, could they trust it? After all, I've only been with him for a week. Where was my mother?

Severus a.k.a. Super Bat Spy was unperturbed throughout this interrogation. I learned that my mother was a Muggle whose identity was none of their business. I yawned, wondering if it was bedtime already. The sleep schedule he had set me on Poppy’s insistence never deviated by a second and had my body well trained by now.

“Where is Albus Dumbledore?” Amelia Bones asked him, her eyes on me. The question woke me up better than her booming voice ever could.

“You will have to ask Minerva. She will be the one that keeps track of his whereabouts, I have enough work to be bothered.” Snape jiggled his knees, shaking me into a better position. “Especially now with his very active namesake here.”

* * *

She went off to God knows where, leaving Moody behind as guard. Neither of the men spoke, glaring daggers at each other. Moody took up position next to the golden hearth, watching Snape with something of a dare in his beady eye. I was suddenly very glad I hadn’t accepted candy from him if this was how he treated Severus. After a long uncomfortable silence, Snape abruptly stood to drop me on the couch.

“Don’t leave me!” I cried.

“I’m not going anywhere—”

“I’d say you’re not,” Moody scoffed from his spot next to the Floo, looking ready to tackle Severus if he dared try to pass him.

“—I need to walk and you are heavy,” Snape said, ignoring the interruption.

Heavy! I needed to keep him happy with me, so I kept my tongue in check and refrained from kicking his ankles. I don’t know why he insisted telling others I bite, kicking was my thing.

With Madam Bones came two Unspeakables. An elderly couple of Indian descent, who looked like they could be someone’s favourite grandparents, smiled kindly at me.

I had to repeat my whole story.

I did not care one whit how kind they looked. Unspeakables were supposed to be the smartest witches and wizards around, and I was a bloody fake. I had read all about Unspeakables doing unspeakable things, knowing everything about everyone. What if they figured out that I was an Insert? They’d dissect me! I answered their questions while hiding behind Snape, clutching at his robe and chewing my thumbnail. When they had sucked me dry of all my knowledge about Quirrell, his companion and Horcruxes, they asked me the mother of all questions.

“Are you Albus Dumbledore?”

As I dealt with my stuttering heart, trying to remember how to pronounce the word ‘no’, the Floo flared high and green.

“Good evening, Amelia, Mr. and Mrs. Patel,” Dumbledore said from within the fire before turning to twinkle at us. “I see you’ve found our wayward youngster, Severus. What is this about?”

“Perhaps you’d like to step through, Professor,” Amelia said. “This is not something we can discuss through an unsecured Floo.”

Dumbledore did so, dusting specks of ash from his dark robe, and I got a good view of how I must have looked that first day. All flowing silver hair and twinkling eyes behind gold-rimmed spectacles, he looked like the answer to all your magical needs. And old as dust. The idea of having to age like that again made my stomach twist into knots. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I had anything against being old, I just wanted to reach there in my own time, and not be jumped ahead by 70 plus years.

His mere presence seemed to satisfy the Unspeakables, for neither of the two asked him if he was himself. (I lost quite a bit of respect for them all, right there.) They asked me to repeat everything. Again. For Minerva/Dumbledore who was going to kill me dead. This was too much.

“I don’t want to!” I wailed, unable to stop myself from bursting into tears. “I want to go home!”

“Severus?” Dumbledore twinkled. “Perhaps you would like to enlighten me.”

He did just that while I clutched at his leg, hindering his ability to pace. For some strange reason, he let me be. He was probably feeling done with me. No, if he was done with me, he would have pried me off. There must still be hope. This thought made me sniffle more, and I stuck my face into his robe, the familiar smell of herbs and magic strangely comforting.

Things escalated from there. A simple plan was made to catch Quirrell while the students were at dinner.

The consensus was that Snape might be trusted—Dumbledore insisted where Moody was vociferous against, the Unspeakables declined to offer an opinion, and Amelia Bones just sighed. In the end, they were not going to take any chances, and he would stay here where he could be watched.

Minerva was Floo-called to help coordinate, Dumbledore’s upper body disappearing through the flames. It looked very comedic, us looking at his butt, and I would definitely have laughed any other time. As it was, my stomach was twisting in on itself. How would we get Minerva to come when Minerva was already here? It was all going to come out in the wash and we were going to be sent straight to Azkaban! Voldemort will take over the world and—and—Dumbledore stood back, and Minerva stepped out of the Floo.

My jaw dropped. “What the fu—” Severus scooped me up and gave me a warning pinch.

* * *

  
Miss Nymphadora Tonks was brought in to watch us. All green hair and happy smiles, she clearly didn’t mind not being told what was going on. They must have trusted Snape more than I thought, putting a trainee on the watch. If my memory served me correctly, she had just finished school the year before.

“Oh aren’t you a cutie, I could eat you right up!” she squealed on seeing me.

Gah! What was it with witches! Remembering the witch in Diagon Alley with her pinching, I hissed, “If you touch me, I’ll bite!”

“Behave!” Snape ordered in a needlessly sharp tone, and made me apologise.

Way to overreact. It’s not as if I had bitten anyone yet, and I wouldn’t even have thought of it if he hadn’t put it out there. I sent him my best glare and stomped off to go sulk on the couch.

Moody, Bones, Headmaster Dumbledore, and Minerva set off to the school. They were simply going to call Quirrell to the Headmaster’s Office and nab him there. See? Easy peasy, and that’s why it was better to go to the authorities with this kind of thing.

As the Unspeakables left to figure out how to separate Quirrell from his evil companion, Tonks brought us dinner, sticking her head through the Floo to order it from somewhere. It appeared minutes later on the large desk, replacing the tea set, the fragrant steam immediately setting my mouth to water.

Her idea of a suitable meal was crispy fried, beer battered Fish and Chips, which Severus curled his top lip at and ignored. He went back to pacing the room, robes swirling magnificently at each turn. I did not need any encouragement to eat my plate clean and neither did Tonks, who happily inhaled his portion also, slathered in vinegar and ketchup.

* * *

The Magical Swat team took an awfully long time, and once my stomach was full, I started to be concerned about the two Minervas’s safety. Snape was still ignoring me, and I sat curled up on the couch, hugging my knees, all the better to worry.

If it came down to them having to fight Quirrell, who would win?

It seemed like hours had passed before the hearth flared again. Madam Bones stepped through alone, looking harried.

“He suspected something and disappeared,” she informed Snape who had stopped mid stride, Tonks looking curiously on. “We’ve sent the students to their dormitories. The damned castle will be searched top to bottom!” she thundered, and asked Tonks if Severus had made any communication to the outside. This raised her to the top of my shit list.

They thought he was still in the castle, though, and she had come back for reinforcements. Amelia left and not a minute later marched back with five burly wizards, all looking extremely capable and ready for action. They made haste to the Floo.

A thought occurred to me while she was out, and I was not happy about it.

There was no reason to search the castle physically when I had the means to do it faster. The map burned a hole in my pajama shirt’s pocket. It was mine! If I gave it up, I would never see it again! Oh God. Snape was going to kill me.

Suffering from indecision, I let them all pass through the Floo, and Madam Bones was seconds away from throwing the sparkly powder and stepping through herself before I spoke up. “I know how to find him!”

She swung about. “Excuse me?”

I cringed away from her stern glare, decidedly avoiding looking at Severus, and whimpered: “I know how to find him?”

The parchment was still activated from when I had swiped it from the twins. The three of them had gathered around me where I kneeled on a chair next to the desk, with the map spread out. Tonks breathed an awed ‘Wow.’

“Your son is full of surprises, Snape,” Amelia said when I demonstrated how to zoom in and out, fingers trembling.

“Isn’t he just. Where exactly did you say you got this, Albus?” he asked me, sounding strangely exhausted.

I hadn’t. I still couldn’t bear to look at him. “I found it on a desk?”

“Like you ‘found’ the cloak?”

Better to be quiet. I pinched my lips closed.

She Floo’d away with the map and Severus went back to pacing while Tonks dug out a wizarding chess set to amuse me with. For a while I was distracted by the fun of killing my pawns and watching as my little queen tried to pull her hair out at every disastrous move—magic was amazing!—but I soon tired of it.

I wanted my bed and I wanted Snape not to be angry at me. I left her to go tug at his black robes, wordlessly raising my arms for a pick up in the age-old toddler signal. Sadly I think he only did it because Tonks was present. To make sure he didn’t drop me on the couch, I clutched myself to him like a monkey and wound my arms tight around his neck.

“Don’t be mad,” I whispered in his ear.

“What else are you hiding from me?”

“It’s only to keep you safe! Don’t be mad!”

“Why do you think I am so upset, Albus?”

“I’m not sure.”

Snape tugged me back to look at my face, and this time I did not hide from him. He blew out a harsh breath. “I believe you. When we get home we will have a long talk about who should be keeping who safe in this family.”

Family?

“What else are you hiding from me?” he repeated, this time with less ire. “Do you have a flying carpet stashed somewhere?”

“I don’t like flying.”

* * *

They could not find Quirrell.

When I started yawning, Tonks brought forth a pillow and soft wool blanket, and I needed no encouragement to take a nap on the couch. Well, I honestly tried. Wizards kept going in and out of the office in a seemingly never-ending stream, the flare of the Floo keeping me from falling into a deeper sleep.

One time I woke startled from a furious babble of voices, someone asking Dumbledore to explain why there was a Cerberus in a school full of children. I only managed to sleep again when I remembered I wouldn’t have to do the explaining.

Then it was Moody shouting at Snape that he must know what his master was up to.

“Former Master!” Snaped shouted back.

“Where is he hiding?”

Severus stepped out through the Floo with Moody in tow to help search, and Tonks had to restrain me from following. Rushing after me, she grabbed me millimeters from the still orange flames, swinging me up into her arms and away.

“You’ll burn!”

“Lemme go!”

“I can’t, Albus! It’s no place for a little kid!”

“They’ll die!” I flailed like a windmill and shouted at her. Later I would be surprised she hadn’t dropped me on my head. Especially after I bit her. “Lemme go!”

“No one will die, I promise you,” Tonks soothed, holding me tight. “Shh. They’ll be back before you know it.”

“No they won’t!”

“Yes they will. Hush.”

I think she walked me back to sleep, but I prefer to blank that part out, thank you. There might have been singing.

Somewhere in the middle of the night Snape did come back, a spider web tangled in his greasy hair, shaking me awake.

“Albus. Is there anywhere in the school that you can think he might be?” Severus asked, Moody a fiercely frowning guard at his back.

Exhaustion had finally won and it was too late to think straight. I slapped his bothering hands away. “Did you try the chambers?”

“Which chambers?”

“The _secret_ one, Daddy, let me sleep.”

* * *

They revived me with a potion that tasted of nail clippings and salt. It had me jittering on the couch, my whole body vibrating with unspent energy. My brain worked overtime. If Quirrell wasn’t on the map, he was either long gone or on a spot that didn’t show. And I only knew of one such a place: Salazar Slytherin’s secret chambers.

I made up a story on how I had followed Quirrell to Myrtle’s bathroom where he had disappeared down a hole. Under Snape’s dark glare, I elaborated on how I spent an afternoon talking to Myrtle, learning all about the founder’s secret hidey hole.

I should have been a nervous, crying wreck from the amount of lies I had to make up on the spot, but the potion searing through my little body afforded me with electric courage.

When I remembered to warn them of the Basilisk, Snape turned nearly apoplectic with rage, sputtering dire consequences as soon as we reached home. Tonks stood wide-eyed with her hands over her mouth. Moody in turn listened quietly, his blue orb twirling in dizzying spirals, a thoughtful look on his scarred face.

“We will be having a long talk when we get home,” Snape threatened again as if I hadn’t memorised it by heart already.

“Okay, Daddy!” I jumped up on the couch. What the fuck was in that potion? I had never felt so energized. I jumped up and down, my glasses hopping on my itty bitty nose, the couch making a great trampoline.

“Get Harry to open the tap,” I told them between jumps, “he can speak parsley!”

They left me to Tonks’s tender loving care while they went off to fetch some roosters. Snape knew just where to find them, he had said with a dour face.

I spent the next hour jumping on couches and speeding up and down the deserted hallway until I ran out of steam. Then wished the floor would swallow me whole. Did I really say parsley? Surely I must have misremembered… Oh God, I’ll never be able to look anyone of them in the eye again! (Later Snape would say that that was the moment Moody stopped wondering if I was Albus Dumbledore, and I would pretend it was done quite on purpose, thank you very much.)

A very frazzled Tonks gave me warm milk and put me back to bed on the couch. She transfigured a soft Teddy Bear for me to hug, it’s fur as green as her hair, and sang me to sleep. What? It’s not as if I could stop her.

* * *

When I woke again it was all over and Severus was carrying me home.

“Are you mad?”

“Grey hair, Albus.”

I threw my arms around his neck and on impulse gave his cheek a wet smooch, just happy that he was alive. “Everyone gets grey hair, you can’t be sure it’s from me.”

We stepped through the swirling Floo, and out into my office where we found Dumbledore behind the desk, sagging over a cup of tea. “If I never drink Polyjuice again it will be too soon,” he said. “Tea, Severus?”

“Breakfast will start in half an hour.”

“Ah yes. Let the day begin.”

“You cannot stop now, you’ll need to talk to the students.”

“Yes. And to countless parents and the School Board, the rest of the Wizengamot and probably Rita Skeeter.”

“Cancel your classes, we can tell them you went to inform Quirrell’s family,” Severus suggested. “Or let the seventh years take over.”

“I’ll cancel some, for the most I think the Time Turner will be enough.” Dumbledore sighed. “Poppy took Harry to the Infirmary. Last I saw myself, I was talking to Argus. We will have to brick that bathroom up before the Weasley twins start offering guided tours. If you see me, kindly tell me four more turns ought to do it and to take the afternoon off.”

Throughout their discussion, I kept as quiet as a mouse and pretended to have fallen asleep. The last thing I wanted was Minerva’s attention to turn to me.

Severus carried me out of the office, down the spiraling stairs and past the ugly gargoyle before he spoke. “You’re a chicken, Albus.”

“She’ll get to me soon enough.”

“That she will.”

I sighed and settled more comfortably in his grip while he strode purposeful down the hall.

“I bit Tonks.”

“That will be another apology letter then.”

* * *

I slept through the morning. After breakfast, Severus had dropped me off in the Infirmary for a tired Poppy to babysit, while around us classes continued as usual.

“Please can I go dooown, Poppy,” I moaned after she gave me lunch. “It’s boring here.”

“Thank you, Albus. There’s nothing wrong with being bored. In fact, we’ve had enough excitement to last us the year. You’ll stay right where you are until Severus come to fetch you.”

_Fine. I would wait for her to turn her back and slip away._

“Don’t you dare! Do I need to stick you to the bed?”

“How’d you know!”

“It does not take a mind reader, dear.”

“You didn’t see Harry sneak off.”

“I let him. His little friends can help him much better than lying in bed would.”

“Being down will help me better—” I started complaining snippily when her magic swirled around me, and I felt myself stick to the sheets. “Aargh!”

“Would you like a book to read, dear?” the witch asked me sweetly.

“Please.”

* * *

They came for me at four. The bell announcing end of classes still echoing faintly through the ward. Severus, Minerva and Poppy.

“Let’s have a little talk, Albus,” Minerva said.

“I’m very sorry!”

* * *

Severus took the lead. “Just how long have you known that we had a Basilisk under the school, right under the students—a Basilisk, Albus!—had it never crossed your tiny little mind that we would be interested in this fact? Explain yourself!”

I was ready for this. I had nearly twelve hours to think up a story. “What would you have done with the information? Have every adventurous student run off on a wild goose-chase?” Yes, I know. The irony. “Let them dig a thousand holes?” An adult voice might have given me a bit more authority to get them to swallow my story but I had stubborness in spades to make up for sounding like a mosquito. “For all I knew, it was dead, since we haven’t heard it in fifty years! It is not as if any of us could open it, Severus. Keeping it to myself was the right decision, and I stand by it.”

That was the last word I got in edgewise. Minerva took her turn. I played the ‘I knew best’ card whenever pushed for an explanation. Oh they didn’t like that at all, but what could they do?

Once they had stopped their collective and individual scolding sessions and I had dried my tears, they told me all of it over a nice cup of tea.

The Aurors hadn’t wanted to blast a hole in a building full of kids (sensible) and had brought Harry Potter to open the tap just like I had said to do.

“Parsley,” Severus coughed into his teacup, setting the women off into peals of laughter.

“I was sleepy!”

Still thinking themselves _sensible_, they had kept Harry in the bathroom with Myrtle and the two Unspeakables, wanting him ready and available if he needed to go down to deal with more doors.

“You should just have Obliviated him and sent him back to bed,” I told Minerva, picking cookie crumbs off my lap.

“We don't do that to students, Albus,” Minerva said with pursed lips.

What Harry had to deal with instead was Quirrell who had successfully evaded four Professors—Poppy having insisted on joining—and seven Aurors. Quirrell had his own invisibility cloak (according to Poppy, there had been a sale), and he ran. The bathroom was where he met his downfall. By then Myrtle had been crying and splashing up a storm. He had not accounted for Myrtle’s wet tiles, and skidded, sliding slap-bang into Harry Potter.

Who naturally tried to help him up, no-one having had the forethought to tell the poor kid that they were after his Defence of the Dark Arts Professor.

Cue barbeq—uhm yes, the hapless Quirinus Quirrell burned just like in the books, and they would never find out if he had been a willing participant in all of it or any.

That was luckily not the end of the story. The Unspeakables were there to catch the escaping soul fragment and did their job with aplomb.

Meanwhile, back in the chambers the roosters killed the Basilisk, leaving everybody free to start devising up ways to kill me.

That was so unfair?! I deserved a medal!  
  


**The End.**

  
Or not.


	15. Epilogue.

What happened next?

It was in all the news: _Harry Potter Kills You-Know-Who. Again._

The Daily Prophet held front-page articles for nearly a week until they had milked it as much as they could, and while most of the details were incorrect, it made for exciting reading. The Quibbler had a whole paragraph on it in the middle of a fluff piece on Parselmouths through the ages, asserting inanely that Merlin’s daughter could speak to rabbits.

Children grouped around radios, listening as everyone and their mother explained how it had been possible for You-Know-Who to survive before. Horcruxes were mentioned, and a public announcement was made not to touch any if found. The school provided educational leaflets on the subject (my idea) with suitable gory pictures of rotting limbs (Snape’s idea).

* * *

The Slytherins staged a mini-revolt.

To the last man, they sat down in the great hall one breakfast and refused to go to class.

Apparently they were quite insulted at Percy being my nanny when any one of them should have been Snape’s first choice, heck, even Malfoy. They furthermore lamented the fact that I had been in Gryffindor tower twice already, when I hadn’t stepped a foot in their dungeon yet, and even the Quidditch team set their brooms down, refusing to fly until the situation was rectified.

Minerva walked off laughing, leaving it up to Severus to manage his wayward flock.

Severus was building up reserves of patience, dealing with me. He dipped into these to explain to them that they probably did not have enough candy to satisfy me, and that I would walk all over them and their soft little hearts. He furthermore feared he’d leave me in the Snake Den one minute, only to find me traipsing about in the Forbidden Forest the next, off gamboling with the unicorns, happily playing the virgin sacrifice. I saw quite a few astonished faces here, a few kids mouthing ‘What?’ to each other. Someone wondered in a stage whisper if they should be counting Snape’s mushrooms.

They finally agreed to share me with Percy, folding quickly when Snape’s patience ran out, evidenced by his dark glare promising hard times for the next Slytherin that spoke up in dissent.

The issue resolved, he proceeded to give the whole lot of them detention with Hagrid, the entire Slytherin house, and took away one point. It was bedlam! Never had there been such noise in the Great Hall!

* * *

  
We had started a Sunday routine where all four of us would gather in my former office to go over what needed to be done during the week. Whether about Hogwarts or the Wizengamot, all was discussed in case anyone needed to stand in for the others.

Poppy and Minerva easily knew more than I did about everything pertaining to my former life. I played but a small part in their conversations, not wanting to show my ignorance, but none of them seemed to mind and usually let me be. Truth be told I came for the cookies.

“I am considering bringing Lupin in for the Defence position,” Minerva said one afternoon over tea.

Severus turned red. He placed the fragile porcelain teacup with utmost care back in its saucer, and hissed: “Over my dead body.”

“You’ve been complaining non-stop about Alastor filling in, I thought you would be happy to see him go,” Minerva said, sounding unperturbed.

“Anyone would be better than that—that—” at a loss for words he jumped up, swaying on his feet, his face a dark, ugly colour. “If Lupin comes, I will leave. The very day he steps foot in this castle!”

“We will not bring Lupin,” I said, setting my cookie down. This needed adult me.

“Oh?” Minerva raised her chin, a strange triomphant glint in her eyes. “You’ve not been taking any interest in school matters, Albus, why now?”

“You know why, Minerva. I am still the Headmaster here. If needs be I’ll tell the world I de-aged myself and take it up again. Offer the position to Alastor. The students love him, and Severus will stop moaning about the very air he breathes.”

“I do not moan,” Severus objected, slowly gathering his wits. He seemed to realise he was the only one standing and sat back down in a huff.

“Complaining, then. Face it, Da-Severus, yesterday I spent the whole day fishing unsupervised on the lake, and yet when you found me your first words were what?”

“Did you want me to scold you?”

“Of course not! I wanted you to admire the fish I caught. I did not want to hear about Moody taking unnecessary points from your favourite Hufflepuff. Since when do you even have a favourite Hufflepuff?”

“You two used to be friends! It is only a matter of time before Alastor realises who you are!”

Oh for fuck’s sake. So that was the reason? For the last two months I had thought he might be harbouring romantic feelings for the scarred Auror. Just the day before, I had discussed it with Minerva, trying to figure a way to get the two wizards to kiss and make up. Most of the aggravation had been coming from Severus, though, as Moody seemed to actually like being a teacher and was trying to fit in. I glanced at Minerva, and saw her sit back with a self-satisfied smile.

“Then so be it,” I told Severus. “I can tell him right now if you are worried about that. He will keep our secrets.”

“How can you be so sure!”

“I am.”

Moody stayed. I was not much impressed with Minerva’s shitty machinations and made sure she knew it, for once being the scolder and not the scoldee.

* * *

  
I watched Severus carefully for any signs of jealousy over the lost post, but he seemed to pay it no mind. He was slaving over the antidote to The Potion every free moment, day and night.

Yes, my potion.

In our own little private debriefing session, I admitted to stealing the map from the Weasley twins and explained how it worked. That part where you tap the parchment with your wand and solemnly swear that you’re up to no good? Severus had a brainwave and found that dear old Albus had copied it. Hidden underneath the Lemon Curd recipe was a potion formula in elegant calligraphy, much like my own that I had practiced for ages in middle school. It honestly kept surprising me how much the old fool and I had in common.

It was Dumbledore’s version of the Elixir of Life.

From the notes at the back, it seemed he (me) tried to modify it to account for the Flamel couple’s arthritis. It transpired from a Floo call with Mr. Flamel that being old forever was not all that great. We kept my existence a secret from him, as according to Minerva, the three of them knowing was already dangerous enough. I wholeheartedly agreed.

I reluctantly dug up the Philosopher’s stone from deep inside the couch, dusted off some fluff and handed it over to a gobsmacked Snape.

“What the bloody blazes were all the traps for, Albus?”

Fuck if I knew. “I like to keep you on your toes?”

He didn’t talk to me until dinner.

* * *

Poppy explained that I didn’t have much time before the antidote would be worthless. They had deduced this from the fact that I seemed to regress to childlike behavior—I did not!—and at times showed large ‘memory lapses’.

“Do you want to be an old man with a child's mind?” she asked.

Severus raised both eyebrows to high heaven. “He wasn’t already?”

“Now, Severus…” Minerva rebuked him half-heartedly.

No matter how they insisted, I didn’t tell them about the still missing Fawkes and my own little additions. Whenever Snape asked for any details, I just pressed my lips together, stuck my fingers childishly in my ears, sang ‘na-na-na’, and he would soon walk off, throwing his hands in the air.

Did I really want to be an old man again? I was going to have to sort that issue soon.

* * *

After I wrote Ginny about my vision of a ‘Ratman’ leaning over Ron’s bed, they found Pettigrew and exonerated Black. Black, who was understandably raving like a lunatic, having had his mind and soul tortured for over a decade, was sent to St Mungo's Hospital for therapy on Minerva/Dumbledore’s suggestion.

The day he was released, Severus stood me on the desk in his private study to be at eye level with him and bowed his head down, pointing a yarrow stained finger to his hair. It was rarely free from potions’ grease those days, but that was not what he wanted me to see.

“Look at that, Albus. That grey hair has your name on it.”

* * *

Minerva burned the map. Then vanished the ashes.

Severus was quite incensed. “How will I find Albus the next time he gets it into his damned head to wander off?!”

“Ask Molly Weasley to make you a clock.”

* * *

  
Severus kept the cloak but hid it. “You can have it back when you turn 18 or 80, whichever one comes first.”

I stomped a foot. “Then I’ll just wait for another sale and buy a new one!”

“Yes? Thank you for the warning.”

Fuckit.

* * *

I never made friends with Hagrid or his dog.

* * *

Oh, at one point I did kick Fred for telling Ginny that Severus was horrid, but was immediately sorry, as Percy made me stand in a corner and insisted I apologize. (I have never seen Snape laugh so hard in my life.)

* * *

The Very End.

Really.

XOXO

Ps. I stayed a child.

In the end the wizarding world did learn that I had aged myself down. (How? Rita Skeeter bugged us.) By then I was truly cemented in everyone’s mind as Albus Snape, perpetual scamp and inveterate fool, thus a good amount of the population thought it might be a hoax. Those that believed it did not care. It was not as if I had gained immortality. No one was interested in going through the horrors of childhood again, least of all puberty!

***

_Thanks for reading!_


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